Early the next morning Father Hieronymus entered the room that was occupied by Lady Regina von Emmeritz and old Dorthe. Pale from watching and suffering, the beautiful young girl sat by the bedside of her faithful servant. When the Jesuit entered, Regina rose quickly.
"Save Dorthe, my father!" she impetuously exclaimed ... "I have looked for you everywhere, and you have abandoned me!"
"Hush!" said the Jesuit whispering. "Speak low, the walls have ears. So ... actually? ... Dorthe is sick? Poor old woman, it is too bad, but I cannot help her. They have penetrated our disguise. They suspect us. We must fly this day—this moment."
"Not before you have made Dorthe well again. I beseech you, my father; you are wise, you know all the remedies; give her an immediate restorative, and we will follow you wherever you choose.
"Impossible, we have not a moment to lose. Come!"
"Not without Dorthe, my father! Holy Virgin, how could I abandon her, my nurse, my motherly friend?"
The Jesuit went to the bed, took the old woman's hand, touched her forehead, and pointed to it in silence, with an air which Regina understood but too well.
"She is dead!" cried the young girl with dismay.
"Yes, what then?" replied the Jesuit, a marked sinister smile on his lips fighting with the air of regret he tried to assume.
"You see, my child," he added, "that the saints have wished to spare our faithful old friend a toilsome journey, and have taken her instead to heavenly glory. There is nothing more to be done here. Come!"