“Yes, Ethel. This brigand, doubtless bribed by Count Griffenfeld’s enemies, has in his possession papers whose loss imperils the life of your father, already the object of so many attacks. I would die to win back those papers.”
Ethel was pale and dumb for some moments. Her tears were dried, her heaving breast labored painfully; she looked on the ground with a dull and indifferent gaze,—the gaze of the condemned man as the axe is lifted over his head.
“My father’s life!” she sighed.
Then she slowly turned her eyes toward Ordener.
“What you do is useless; but do it.”
Ordener pressed her to his bosom. “Oh, noble girl, let me feel your heart beat against mine! Generous friend! I will soon return. Nay, you shall soon be mine; I would save your father, that I may better deserve to be his son. My Ethel, my beloved Ethel!”
Ordener bidding Ethel farewell.
Photo-Etching.—From drawing by Démarest.