"What was the peasant saying, reverend sir?" asked the anxious Ernestine on the departure of the Jutelander, whose language she did not understand.
"Alas, Lady!" said Bandolo, seating himself with an air of dejection; "prepare yourself for melancholy intelligence. The poor count—ah me—well, what a world it is!"
"My father—what of my poor father?" asked both girls together, rushing to his side with their eyes full of tears.
"He is still lingering at Fredricksort, but life is scarcely expected for him; and the emperor has sent his own physician, Herr Blyster, to attend him."
"Oh! the dear, good emperor!" exclaimed Gabrielle, with sorrowful ardour.
"Herr Blyster!" mused Ernestine; "I did not think that was the name of the emperor's physician." Neither it was; but the name was the suggestion of Bandolo's own imagination, which sometimes was not a very happy one.
"Trust in the Lord, lady—trust in the Lord!" said he, turning up his eyes.
Gabrielle clung to her sister, and did nothing but weep. Bernhard stood behind them, making grimaces and grotesque contortions of visage at his reverend master, who one moment seemed inclined to laugh, and the next to swear, at a folly which might undo all, and perhaps prevent their obtaining peacefully the Count of Merodé's thousand ducats, of which Master Bernhard was to receive a good share—as Bandolo had promised faithfully; but without the least intention of giving him a stiver.
Darkness set in; the poor woman of the cottage lighted a solitary candle, and from her cupboard brought a glass of birch-wine for each of the ladies, and another of schnaps for the Herr and his valet.
Ernestine was just expressing to Gabrielle her impatience to be gone—her uneasiness to be in this unknown cottage at night, on an enemy's coast, with two strangers—for when in the dogger with the sailors, she did not feel herself so desolate—when the boor returned with the horses, two of which had side-saddles, and they all mounted hastily.