"Holy Mary, a man was struck over there and does not move again!" cried Ketchen, who could not conceal her sympathy.
"St. Francis be praised, there is one heretic less in the world!" rejoined old Dorthe, Lady Regina's duenna, who had been appointed by Father Hieronymus to guard all her steps.
"But it is terrible to shoot a man."
Count Fritz smiled.
"Fräulein Ketchen, you should have been on the field of Breitenfeld. Nine thousand corpses!"
"It is horrible!"
"Count, can you inform me who those horsemen are, who, in spite of the storm of cannon-shot, keep on the river bank and seem to be closely examining the defences of our castle?"
"Pardon me, charming cousin, the smoke blocks my sight. Those cavaliers—upon my honour, it is the king himself, and Count Pehr Brahe. I would not be in their shoes if Father Hieronymus sees them. He would undoubtedly bring all the guns of the fortress to bear upon them."
At these words old Dorthe crept silently from the room.
"My cousin, why do you thus regard the heretic leader?"