"I have heard of it," replied Prudentia, who was the identical personage referred to, and had then around her graceful neck and tapered wrists the jewels given to her by the murdered man, who had fallen beneath her brother's poniard—a catastrophe which had banished her from Vienna for ever, though it was no blemish in the eyes of Merodé and his officers, to the female staff of whose regiment she had attached herself. "She was a countrywoman of mine—but a mere dancer," said Prudentia, with a toss of her pretty head; "we know that persons of that profession are all alike."
"It was very horrid—it was infamous!"
Prudentia gave the unconscious girl a spiteful glance from the corners of her dark eyes.
"Ah! madame, when shall I leave this place—when will you set me free?"
"Foolish child! it is for your own good you are brought here. The count is gallant, rich, generous, and will make up for the fortune your father is about to lose; for, although no one has been found murdered in his bedroom, he has fallen into disgrace with the Emperor. I am sure Merodé is very loveable. He will give you the most magnificent dresses—with flowers and diamonds for your hair, jewels and circlets for your neck and arms, a gilded caleche and six white horses with switching tails if you wish them, for in this place he has half the spoil of South Juteland."
"Oh, that I was out of it!" said Gabrielle, wringing her hands in bewilderment, and abandoning herself to the most violent grief. "Ernestine! Ernestine! why do you not come to me? I will be destroyed here. Madame, my father will give you all you have enumerated, and a thousand doubloons to boot, if you will set me free."
"I am not mistress here, any more than yourself," replied Prudentia, with a cold smile.
There was a pause, during which nothing was heard but the sobs of Gabrielle, and distant din of roistering in the hall, where Merodé and his officers were drinking and gambling like mad ruffians, as they were; and the roar of mingled laughter, with the clatter of drinking-horns, came on the currents of air through the long echoing corridors of the old Danish fortress.
"Oh!" moaned Gabrielle, covering her fine blue eyes with her hands; "I wish that some great illness would come and kill me."
"What a foolish wish!" retorted Prudentia; "upon my word, girl, I believe you are just what I was at your age—dying for a husband. But come with me to my room; by this time, Merodé, who with all his generosity is a mere sot at night—a regular borracho—will not trouble us until to-morrow——"