In the morning, as soon as Matilda awoke, her eyes as usual turned first of all to the cradle. She was greatly surprised to see that it was empty, and at once called the nurse and demanded what had become of the child.
The nurse pretended to be equally surprised. “I do not know,” she answered. “When I last saw him, he was asleep in the cradle beside your ladyship.”
Matilda was very much alarmed. The count was called, the castle searched thoroughly, and every one was questioned, but they could find no trace of the baby.
“It must be some evil spirit or enchantress who has carried him away,” said the nurse. “Last night I heard a beating of wings outside my window, and a strange sound of sighing and moaning, but I thought it was only some great bird that was lost in the night.”
This the nurse said not because she had really heard anything, but because this was part of a plot that she and the old countess had hatched between them.
Days passed, and still nothing was heard of the child. The count was in despair. Even Matilda herself was scarcely more dear to him than his infant son.
At the end of a year another child was born to Matilda, and this also was a son, a child as strong and handsome as the first.
But again, when the infant was only a few weeks old, the nurse stole it away secretly in the night, without being seen by anyone. In the morning the cradle was empty, and no trace of the child could be found anywhere.
The count was filled with grief and anguish. In his heart he secretly blamed Matilda because she had not awakened when the child was carried away. But he restrained himself from reproaching her. He could not help treating her somewhat coldly, however, and Matilda was grieved to the heart not only over the loss of the child, but because she feared her husband no longer loved her.