'You have seen him!' she exclaimed, rising.

'Of course I have!' he answered. 'And you will see him too, one of these days.'

My lady looked at me, frowning. But I shook my head. He was not drunk.

'Where?' she asked, after a pause. 'Where did you see him, Rupert?'

'In the street--where you see other men,' he answered, chuckling again. 'He should not be there, but who is to keep him out? He is too clever. He will get his way in the end, see if he does not!'

'Rupert!' my lady cried in wrathful amazement, 'to hear you, one would suppose you admired him.'

'So I do,' he replied coolly. 'Why not? He has all the wits of the family. He is as cunning as the devil. Take a hint, cousin; put yourself on the right side. He will win in the end!' And the Waldgrave rose restlessly from his chair, and, going to the window, began to whistle.

My lady came swiftly to me, and it grieved me to see the pain and woe in her face.

'Is he mad?' she muttered.

I shook my head.

'Do you think he has really seen him?' she whispered. We both stood with our eyes on him.

'I fear so, my lady,' I said with reluctance.

'But it would cost _him_ his life,' she muttered eagerly, 'if he were found here!'

'He is a bold man,' I answered.

'Ah! so was he--once,' she replied in a peculiar tone, and she pointed stealthily to the unconscious man in the window. 'A month ago he would have taken him by the throat anywhere. What has come to him?'

'G.o.d knows,' I answered reverently. 'Grant only he may do us no harm!'

He turned round at that, humming gaily, and went out, seeming almost unconscious of our presence; and I made as light of the matter to my lady as I could. But Tzerclas in the city, the Waldgrave mad, or at any rate not sane, and last, but not least, the strange light in which the latter chose to regard the former, were circ.u.mstances I could not easily digest. They filled me with uneasy fears and surmises. I began to perambulate the crowd, seeking furtively for a face; and was entirely determined what I would do if I found it. The town was full, as all besieged cities are, of rumours of spies and treachery, and of reported overtures made now to the city behind the back of the army, and now to the army to betray the city. A single word of denunciation, and Tzerclas' life would not be worth three minutes' purchase--a rope and the nearest butcher's hook would end it. My mind was made up to say the word.

I suppose I had been going about in this state of vigilance three days or more, when something, but not the thing I sought, rewarded it. At the time I was on my way back from morning drill. It was a little after eight, and the streets and the people wore an air bright, yet haggard. Night, with its perils, was over; day, with its privations, lay before us. My mind was on the common fortunes, but I suppose my eyes were mechanically doing their work, for on a sudden I saw something at a window, took perhaps half a step, and stopped as if I had been shot.

I had seen Marie's face! Nay, I still saw it, while a man might count two. Then it was gone. And I stood gasping.

I suppose I stood so for half a minute, waiting, with the blood racing from my heart to my head, and every pulse in my body beating. But she did not reappear. The door of the house did not open. Nothing happened.

Yet I had certainly seen her; for I remembered particulars--the expression of her face, the surprise that had leapt into her eyes as they met mine, the opening of the lips in an exclamation.

And still I stood gazing at the window and nothing happened.

At last I came to myself, and I scanned the house. It was a large house of four stories, three gables in width. The upper stories jutted out; the beams on which they rested were finely carved, the gables were finished off with rich, wooden pinnacles. In each story, the lowest excepted, were three long, low windows of the common Nuremberg type, and the whole had a substantial and reputable air.

The window at which I had seen Marie was farthest from the door, on the first floor. To go to the door I had to lose sight of it, and perhaps for that reason I stood the longer. At last I went and knocked, and waited in a fever for some one to come. The street was a thoroughfare. There were a number of people pa.s.sing. I thought that all the town would go by before a dragging foot at last sounded inside, and the great nail-studded door was opened on the chain. A stout, red-faced woman showed herself in the aperture.

'What is it?' she asked.

'You have a girl in this house, named Marie Wort,' I answered breathlessly. 'I saw her a moment ago at the window. I know her, and I wish to speak to her.'

The woman's little eyes dwelt on me stolidly for a s.p.a.ce. Then she made as if she would shut the door. 'For shame!' she said spitefully.

'We have no girls here. Begone with you!'

But I put my foot against the door. 'Whose house is this?' I said.

'Herr Krapp's,' she answered crustily.

'Is he at home?'

'No, he is not,' she retorted; 'and if he were, we have no baggages here.' And again she tried to shut the door, but I prevented her.

'Where is he?' I asked sternly.

'He is at morning drill, if you must know,' she snapped; 'and his two sons. Now, will you let me shut my door? Or must I cry out?'

'Nonsense, mother!' I said. 'Who is in the house besides yourself?'

'What is that to you?' she replied, breathing short.

'I have told you,' I said, trying to control my anger. 'I----'

But, quick as lightning, the door slammed to and cut me short. I had thoughtlessly moved my foot. I heard the woman chuckle and go slipshod down the pa.s.sage, and though I knocked again in a rage, the door remained closed.

I fell back and looked at the house. An elderly man in a grave, sober dress was pa.s.sing, among others, and I caught his eye.

'Whose house is that?' I asked him.

'Herr Krapp's,' he answered.

'I am a stranger,' I said. 'Is he a man of substance?'

The person I addressed smiled. 'He is a member of the Council of Safety,' he said dryly. 'His brother is prefect of this ward. But here is Herr Krapp. Doubtless he has been at St. Sebald's drilling.'

I thanked him, and made but two steps to Herr Krapp's side. He was the other's twin--elderly, soberly dressed, his only distinction a sword and pistol in his girdle and a white shoulder sash.

'Herr Krapp?' I said.

'The same,' he answered, eying me gravely.

'I am the Countess of Heritzburg's steward,' I said. I began to see the need of explanation. 'Doubtless you have heard that she is in the city?'

'Certainly,' he answered. 'In the Ritter Stra.s.se.'

'Yes,' I replied. 'A fortnight ago she missed a young woman, one of her attendants. She was lost in a night adventure,' I continued, my throat dry and husky. 'A few minutes ago I saw her looking from one of your windows.'

'From one of my windows?' he exclaimed in a tone of surprise.