This young creature presented a letter to the princess. Isabelle took the paper languidly enough, but no sooner had she glanced at it than her face sparkled with joy.
’Twas the letter Robert had given Alice before the sun went down. ’Twas Alice who now gave the letter into the hands of the young princess.
Happily Isabelle read the letter; but her happiness was of short duration, for barely had she finished it than her tirewomen came forward to deck her for the bridal.
Then came grand lords and ladies of the court—a full procession—to accompany the bride to the palace chapel.
They stood without the great room and upon the wide staircase leading to the broad open doors. They were talking gaily and looking towards the princess, when suddenly the breath of death seemed to pass over and among them. Their words faltered on their lips—their hands fell listlessly to their sides; and though they could see and hear, they had no power to move. They saw no figure of a wild-looking, handsome man, waving on high a black, sweeping cypress branch. They saw the doors close of themselves, and remained motionless, like statues grouped about the marble stairs.
Slowly he came on, his face now almost the counterpart of Bertram’s. On and on, to the spot where the princess sat, immovable like the people on the stairs. She saw no one before her eyes; she sat wondering what the sudden silence meant, when suddenly before her stood Robert—surely, and yet not with Robert’s face.
He waved the branch over her fair head, and broke the spell.
“Robert! Robert!”
He looked upon her with a love so terrible that she cried—
“Save me—save me from him!”