So, amid these reflections, the long night had passed away; morning came without sleep once visiting my eyes; and I felt neither hunger nor thirst, nor fear at times, but only a fierce impatience to have the last act of this diabolical drama played out. I knew that I was in the hands of desperate men, and had but one desire—that, if I was to be sent untimeously out of this world, the malevolent De Bitche should not remain in it behind me. But I was without a weapon, and saw nothing that could be made one. With this thought I threw a hurried glance around my room.
The walls were covered by tapestry, which hung on tenterhooks, and represented a banquet of the gods, whose scanty costume displayed a considerable oblivion of decency. They were hideously grotesque and mis-shapen; but were regaling themselves on every variety of fish, flesh, and fowl, and were quaffing water from huge Rhenish tankards. Round the cornice were the arms, crests, and mottoes of the princes of Phalsbourg and the counts palatine of Lutzelstein, with whose family the former had intermarried, and whose castle stands on the skirts of the Vosges, but six miles nearer the frontier of Lorraine.
In a distant defile of the hills a gleam caught my eye: it wavered at first, but came again and again steadily. It was the glitter of arms; and, with a keen glance and an anxious heart, I watched that glitter sparkling afar off like a beam of hope: that it came from the arms of soldiers on the line of march I had no doubt. Anon it disappeared, but gave a new current to my bitter imaginings.
CHAPTER LVI.
THE LETTER TO MARIE LOUISE.
The morning stole away and noon drew near: no food was brought to me; but I did not miss it then, my mind being so agitated by alarm and useless regrets. I was agreeably surprised that the unscrupulous soldiers into whose hands I had fallen did not pistol me as a spy, for De Bitche had given them every reason to believe me one; but that worthy personage had ulterior motives for sparing me so long.
About noon he entered my chamber abruptly, and carefully closed and double-locked the door on the inside, placing the key in the pocket of his buff coat. He then threw off his blue velvet cloak and large beaver hat, which was adorned by a long red feather, and surveyed me sternly. His aspect was in some respects handsome, but his form was colossal, and his bearing imperious. His eyes expressed an excitement which he endeavoured to veil under his usual cruel smile; but a black expression and sinister glare hovered in them. His lower jaw was deep and square—a feature generally indicative of brutal strength and strong passions. In his waist-belt were placed a pair of pistols and a poniard without a sheath. He made an ironical bow to me, to which I replied by drawing my figure up to its full height, and loftily giving him a frown of contempt.
'I have had tidings from Zaberne this morning,' said he; 'Mulheim still holds out bravely, though Count Gallas has failed to relieve him; and so this night the Chevalier Hepburn means to attack Phalsbourg.'
'This night! are you sure of that?'
'Sure as that I now address a—dying man.'