All at once the naked moon emerged into the deep blue, and every one remarked it; but the rain previous no one but Fraischdörfer had been aware of. Albano saw now full clearly the dead eyes and white, stiff lips. "No, they stir not," said he. Then it sounded as if out of Roquairol's breast and iron mouth, "Be still; I am judged!" And immediately began the jay, as concluding chorus of the last act, "The poor man now lies fast asleep, and you can cover him up!"
Gaspard looked very earnestly at his brother. "By heavens!" replied the latter, "it is written so in his part."
The whole starry sky cleared up. The company went homeward. Albano and Dian, with Chariton, stayed by the corpse.
[THIRTY-THIRD JUBILEE.]
Albano And Linda.—Schoppe and the Portrait.—The Wax Cabinet.—The Duel.—The Madhouse.—Leibgeber.
131. CYCLE.
Albano meant to incarcerate himself the next day, weep bitterly, and do penance, and not cheer himself with the sunshine of love; but he found at evening the following billet, written by an unknown hand, on his table:—
"Sir Count: You are hereby informed, that on Friday night, when you were gone journeying, the deceased Captain R. von Froulay played your part with the Countess Romeiro through all the acts, in the flute-dell. You must, for the sake of rivals, get yourself another voice, and the Countess eyes to use by night, although to her it may not be altogether disagreeable to be often deceived respecting you in this manner. Farewell, and be in future a little more discreet!"
With pale face he stared at the skeleton which two giant hands forcibly held up before him, drawn out all at once from the flesh of blooming, youthful limbs. But the fire of pain speedily shot up again and illumined the whole circle of woe. With the might of agony, with bloody arms, must his spirit hurl back and forth the thought, heavy as a rock, the tombstone of his life, in order to prove whether it fitted into the burial vault;—the dreadful thought fell in so completely with Roquairol's whole play and end and life,—but not, on the other hand, with Linda's character, and with the divine moment which he had spent with her in Liana's last garden,—and yet it did, again, very much with her sudden reconciliation and with single, detached words,—and yet, perhaps, after all, this poisoned letter was only a fruit of the vengeance of the Princess, of whose indignation at Roquairol's murder of himself and the ape Dian had told him.