"And Richard Baradlay?"
"Is on the list."
"He is condemned?"
"To death."
Alfonsine pressed the judge-advocate's hand and hastened away to her train. The city clocks were striking five,—the last hour they would ever strike for Richard Baradlay, said she, as she hurried on, feeding her imagination with the last grim scenes of his earthly career.
On arriving at Vienna she found the family carriage awaiting her, and she lost no time in reaching her home. Hastening from room to room in quest of Edith, she found her sewing on a black dress for herself.
"I have fulfilled my vow," cried Alfonsine, smiling with gratified malice. "He is dead!"
Edith raised her eyes sadly and met her cousin's gaze. Then she bowed her head on her breast, but she did not weep or cry out.
Hearing her daughter enter, Baroness Plankenhorst hastened to join her and hear all about the success of her mission. Nor did the other omit any detail in recounting her experiences of the night and the early morning. She dwelt with pride on the instant and entire success that had crowned her efforts. Thereupon the mother and daughter embraced and kissed each other in their joy, nearly forgetting in their congratulations the presence of a third person. But was the victim determined not to wince?
"Haven't you a single tear to shed for him?" they asked, scornfully. But perhaps she had not yet grasped the meaning of it all. "Don't you hear me?" screamed her cousin; "your Richard Baradlay is dead."