Everything was quiet in the castle, and the time at which the old corporal used to bring the keys was near; there was a knock at the door.
The old soldier, looking like a highway robber--a mercenary who had seen military service in every country, entered. He was pale, and his face was strangely twisted. The expression of it struck Zaklika; he was horrified.
The commandant did not like him. His name was Wurm.
"I have to make a serious report," said Wurm.
"What is going on?" cried the commandant, rushing from his chair.
"At this moment your nephew is running away with the Countess Cosel!"
The commandant rushed to the door like a madman.
"It is no use to hasten," laughed Wurm savagely. "I knew it would come to that, and I watched them; I am sure of a good reward."
"It is an impudent lie!" cried the commandant.
"I have done my duty," said Wurm coolly. "At this moment the soldiers are keeping them in the passage behind the chapel, and Captain Henry, who is so fond of giving me slaps on the face, will be shot."