"No, he is not dead," confirmed Girdel; and seeing Irene's pale face, he said, more to himself: "I knew how the news would work, and yet it could not be helped—as God pleases, it will all be right again."
"But where is he?" asked Irene anxiously.
"Countess," began the athlete, somewhat embarrassed, "at present he is a corpse on a bier and whoever sees him thinks he is dead; but to-morrow at this time he will be well and at liberty."
"Ah, if I could only believe it—"
"You can do so," cried Girdel, hastily; "if I had not thought you were more courageous than women in general, I would have kept silent; but I thought to myself you were in despair, and I therefore concluded to speak."
"A thousand thanks for your confidence, but tell me everything that has happened—I can hardly understand the whole thing."
"I believe you. If you were to accompany me to the cellar now you would see one of the chief actors in the drama. Downstairs in a cage lies a wild beast which we have captured. I just want to call Bobichel and give him a message, then I will accompany you downstairs."
A low whistle from the athlete brought the clown directly to him, and Girdel ordered him to slip into the court-house and watch what occurred there. He then accompanied Irene into the damp cellar. Lighting a pocket lantern and holding it aloft, he said:
"Follow me, countess; we will soon be there."