At these words, and at a sign from their chief, two brigands took Andres by the arm, and led him for some distance, through paths that crossed each other in every direction.

  He reached home at a very late hour, completely exhausted, and found his wife disturbed by the greatest anxiety. He contented himself with telling her that on the way, Ignaz Denner had unveiled himself, and shown that he was a villain, and that all relations between them were broken up forever.

  “But the casket, what shall we do with that?” exclaimed Giorgina.

  Andres’ embarrassment was extreme. After having well weighed all the courses he might take, he decided upon faithfully keeping the deposit, thinking that sooner or later Denner would not fail to reclaim it.

  The siege of the farm had alarmed the whole country. At the first sound of the tocsin, the nephew of the Count de Bach, who by chance happened to be in Fulda with an escort of huntsmen, took command of the armed peasants. Three of the bandits, grievously wounded, had been removed to prison; and it was hoped to obtain from them information concerning their accomplices; but on the morning of the third day, the jailer, going his rounds, found them pierced with poignards in their cells. No one could explain the mystery of this tragical event. For the rest, the band had disappeared, without leaving the slightest trace.

  Meanwhile, parties of cavalry searched the forest of Fulda in every direction; and they quartered in the house of the keeper. Andres trembled constantly, for fear that they would bring Denner or some of his companions in, and they, finding themselves prisoners, should accuse him of being an accomplice. The fears of a troubled conscience allowed him no repose, either day or night But all the searches were of no avail. No traces of the bold evil doers who had harassed the country could be found, and Andres was convinced that Denner had kept his word. He carefully shut up the casket and the remainder of the money he had received, wishing to keep nothing of a treasure the possession of which was the occasion of painful remorse. But, as it almost always happens that virtue is only preserved in this life, at the expense of material happiness, poor Andres found himself falling by degrees into his former indigence. He needed a strongly fortified soul, to resist the temptation of escaping from his privations by using Denner’s gold.

  Two years after the events I have just related, his wife presented him with a second child. But her health had become firmer, and sickness was not joined to this increase of family and needs.

  One night, as Andres was reposing himself after the fatigues of his daily turn, and talking with his wife by the fireside, the old servant came to announce, in a trembling voice, that he had seen a very evil-looking man prowling about the house for some time. The keeper took his gun, to go and reconnoitre this importunate visitor, when he heard himself called by name He went out on his door-step, and found Ignaz Denner, clothed in his ancient gray costume, and carrying his valise under his arm, as at the time of his first appearance.

  “Andres,” said Denner, “I have need of shelter for the night.”

  “What, miserable man!” exclaimed the keeper; “darest thou, in spite of thy promise, reappear in this country, and to me? But thou comest, undoubtedly, to seek thy gold and jewels. Wait, I will restore to thee this infernal deposit, which has been my misfortune, and then, thou shalt go quicker than thou earnest; for I swear that if in three days, counting from this time, I meet thee on the grounds belonging to my lord, I will shoot thee down, or give thee up to justice.” And saying these words, Andres went into his dwelling to seek the casket; but when he returned, Denner had disappeared. It was in vain that they sought for him in the forest; they could not discover what had become of him.

  Poor Andres understood that after his too imprudent threats, he had every thing to dread from the vengeance of the bandit. Every night, he watched, in company with his servant, to guard against a surprise. Nothing, however, justified his apprehensions; the country remained calm, no injury was done. Andres, persuaded that Denner had come back alone, nevertheless thought it his duty to go and lay the information before the tribunal in session at Fulda; and whatever responsibility for his forced intimacy with Ignaz Denner might attach itself to him in the eyes of the magistrates, it seemed to him that his conscience would be easier when he had faithfully related all that had happened to him. But as he was about starting, he received a message from Count de Bach, which commanded him to his presence, without delay. He immediately obeyed, very uneasy as to what was about to happen to him.

  As soon as he was introduced into the presence of his master, “Andres,” said the count, “I have sent for thee in great haste, to announce good news to thee. Dost thou remember the inn-keeper, in whose house thy wife Giorgina formerly served, at Naples, in the capacity of milk-maid? That man is dead; but in his last moments, he left a legacy of two thousand ducats, as a reparation for the rude treatment and the hard life he led the poor young girl that you took pity upon. I will give you a certificate, so that you can go, as you are, to receive at Frankfort the sum that is coming to you, from my banker.”

  The joy of the game-keeper was indescribable. He immediately set out for Frankfort, received the two thousand ducats, made several purchases of ornaments for his wife, to whom he wished to give an agreeable surprise on his return. He bought, among other things, a golden bodkin precisely like one that Denner had given her. He then took the road, at full gallop, which led to his cottage, where he must have been so impatiently expected.

  On arriving, he found the principal doors shut and barricaded. He began to call, as loudly as he could, for his wife and servant. No one answered; his dogs alone uttered from within lamentable howlings. Andres instinctively felt that some great misfortune had happened. He knocked loudly upon the door, crying out:— “Giorgina! Giorgina!”

  A feeble voice answered to his appeal; it was Giorgina, who showed her face at a narrow opening. “Oh my Andres,” said she, “it is thou, thou so late! Oh why didst thou thus leave me? During thy absence, many evils have overtaken us!”

  When the door was opened, Andres received his pale and disconsolate wife in his arms. He was obliged to carry her to her bed, for she appeared about to expire with terror and despair. A frightful spectacle presented itself in the chamber. The walls and the floor were soiled with bloody spots, and his youngest child was lying in his cradle, dead! At the same moment, George, his other child, descended the staircase, uttering plaintive cries. The furniture was in disorder, as if a pillage had taken place. Fragments of crockery covered the floor; and on a large table made of oak, that occupied the middle of the room, there was a chafing dish, flasks of diverse forms, and a small tub, half full of blood.

  Andres took his murdered child in his arms; Giorgina weepingly brought him a fine linen cloth, for a shroud, and his unfortunate parents together went and hollowed him a grave at the end of the garden. They placed above this last resting place a little wooden cross. When this sad duty was accomplished, they seated themselves opposite each other on the grass, and bitterly wept, without a single word of sorrow. The following day, Andres found strength to ask for a narration of the cruel event which had just brought mourning into his poor dwelling.

  Giorgina told him that, a short time after his departure for the residence of Count de Bach, a great many suspicious figures were seen wandering through the forest. One night, she had been suddenly awakened by a fearful outcry; and the servant, stupefied, came to announce that the house was surrounded by brigands, and that all resistance was impossible. Soon, a quick, strong voice called out for Andres: and as they answered that Andres was absent, the same voice replied:—” Open, nevertheless; for we must halt here, and Andres will not be long away.”

  The servant was obliged to yield to force. The brigands confusedly burst into the house, and saluted Giorgina as the wife of their captain’s preserver. They afterwards urged her to get them a good supper, as they had just come, harassed and fatigued, from one of the most difficult of their expeditions.

  Whilst they were busied with the care of their arms and horses, the servant found time to approach Giorgina, and inform her in a whisper, that the bandits had just burnt the castle of Count de Bach, and that this lord had perished, with nearly all his servitors. Giorgina wept bitterly, thinking that her husband might, perhaps, be among the unfortunate victims of these monsters.

  Meanwhile, the brigands, who had seated themselves at the table, were soon intoxicated. Their orgie lasted the whole night. Towards day-break, Ignaz Denner made his appearance. In presence of their chief, the booty was divided; the troop then separated, following different roads, and Denner alone remained.

  “I am sorry,” said he to Giorgina, “that our unexpected arrival should have caused you any fright. Your husband has undoubtedly not told you that he is one of my company of Independents. He was with us at the taking of the castle of Bach, and he killed with his own hand, during the combat, his lord and master. Now that we have gained a rich booty, we are going to separate for a long time, in order to escape the spies of the police. Say to Andres, that he could not have expected to see us again so soon. — But you have there, my dear little woman, an admirable child!”

  Saying these words, Denner took the youngest son of the keeper into his arms, and played with him for several minutes; he then gave him back to his mother, adding, “Is not that little fellow just nine weeks old!”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Giorgina.

  “Well, my dear,” said Denner, “let me take him whilst you go and prepare me some refreshments, for my moments are precious, and I must start away immediately.”

  Hardly had Giorgina left him, to obey the orders of the brigand, than she became sensible of a singular odor that sprang up around her. She hastened back to the chamber, but the door was barricaded on the inside; and, listening, she thought that she heard stifled groans.

  “Ah! good heaven!” exclaimed she, “he is killing my child!”

  The servant, alarmed by her cries, took an axe and broke down the door. The child, quite naked, was lying upon the table, his throat placed over a dish, which received his blood. The poor mother fainted, whilst the old servant, with uplifted axe, assailed the odious Denner.

  When she came to herself, it was night. She gropingly arose; and, seeking to find her way in the dark, she found under the table the body of her child, so cruelly mutilated, and near by, bunches of hair, pulled out in the struggle between the two men, also the axe, all covered with blood. Seized with unspeakable horror, she again fell into a profound stupor, from which she did not awake until the middle of the following day.

  An oppressive silence reigned about her; she called out in a feeble voice to her other son, George, who tremulously answered her, from the depths of a shed used for a stable, where he had hidden himself to escape from the brigand. She pressed him closely to her heart, and dragged herself to the door of the house, which she fastened as well as she could, to await her husband’s arrival. The little George told her that from his hiding place he had seen, through a hole looking out upon the cottage yard, Ignaz Denner come out, carrying the body of a man, which was carried by several of his companions into the forest.

  At the end of this mournful story, Giorgina, seeing her husband return with a great bag of money, exclaimed, starting back:—” Ah! good heavens! Andres, the brigand then told the truth? Thou art one of his accomplices?”

  But the good Andres hastened to reassure her, by relating to her this journey to Frankfort.

  Meanwhile, the nephew of the Count de Bach, having inherited the domain of Fulda, the keeper general wished to relate to him all that had happened, and give in his resignation, driven to this by the misfortune which had bowed him. But not being able to decide upon leaving his wife and child exposed to another attack, he thought of making this journey in a little chariot, in which he would place, besides, the best part of his goods, so as not to return to this accursed habitation again. Three days afterwards, as he was busy in making preparations for his approaching departure, he heard a great stamping of horses near his house. It was the forester of the castle of Bach, followed by a numerous escort of cavalry. A judge of the criminal court accompanied them.

  “We arrived in time,” said the magistrate, “to put our hands upon this rascal, who was about to escape with the fruit of his robberies.”

  Andres was dumb with surprise, and Giorgina became nearly mad. But without giving them a minute to justify themselves, the soldiers bound them, and threw them into the same chariot that Andres had prepared for himself. They separated Giorgina from her child, so that, as the judge said, he should no longer be educated in so guilty a school.

  The old forester of the castle of Bach then approached Andres, who continually protested his innocence, and said to him, with a rude expression of pity:— “God send that all thy protestations be not so many lies. Justice will soon make clear the charges that weigh against thee; and so much the better, if thou canst come out from them, white as snow. Meanwhile, whatever happens, I myself will watch over thy child, and all that belongs to thee, until the magistrates have decided thy fate. After that, if they condemn thee, they will see to the rest.”

  When the escort had arrived at Fulda, they placed Andres and his wife in separate prisons. Several days after, the first examination took place. Andres gave a faithful report of his relations with Ignaz Denner. He accused himself of timidity, in regard to this brigand, but declared that his only fault was in not having denounced him. He then proved, by his certificate of a journey to Frankfort, the impossibility of his having been with the band that pillaged and burnt the castle of Bach.

  At this moment the door of the court room was thrown open, and Ignaz Denner was led in by the guard. On seeing the poor Andres thus terrified, the chief of the brigands burst into a loud laugh:—” There thou art also in fine sheets!” said he to him. “It appears that the virtue of thy wife very feebly protected thee!”

  The judge ordered Denner to repeat his evidence, in the presence of the keeper of Fulda. Denner made oath, that for five years, Andres had been connected with his band, and that his house had served him as a place of refuge, in every case where he had been hotly pursued by the police soldiers. He added, that Andres had always taken, with the greatest regularity, his share of the prizes, although he had never acted personally in more than two expeditions, the last of which was the plundering of the castle of Bach.

  The energetic denials of the keeper general could not triumph over the effrontery of his accuser, who reproached him, with bitter irony, for denying his friends in an hour of peril, after having found it so sweet to share with them in their days of prosperity. The judges knew not what to think, in the face of Andres’ defence, who seemed so full of frankness, and the coolness of the brigand, who persisted in accusing him.

  The presence of Giorgina produced a harrowing scene. She threw herself weepingly into the arms of her husband, and loudly accused Denner of the murder of her child; but Denner had the strength to remain unmoved before her, and satisfied himself with saying that she was innocent, that she had always been ignorant of the cause of her husband’s absence.

  In consequence of this examination, Andres was led back to his cell, to await there the result of their deliberations. Several days after, the jailer announced to him that his wife had been liberated, for want of charge against her, and that Count de Bach’s nephew had given her a home in his castle. This piece of news softened, in some measure, the grief of the poor keeper.

  Meanwhile, his affair took a more and more alarming turn; he had only been able to oppose protestations of his innocence to the evidence of Denner. The day of the pillage of the castle of Bach, he acknowledged, himself, his absence from his house, but the banker at Frankfort did not remember having paid to Andres, personally, the two thousand ducats, the receipt for which was signed by the departed Count de Bach. The secretary of this lord, who had written the certificate, had since died; and none of the servants of the count knew any thing about the facts.

  Thus, not being able to prove his alibi legally, Andres was about to submit, without hope of mercy, to the consequences of his false position. An incident which completely disheartened him, was the declaration under oath of two foresters, who had seen Andres among the brigands, by the light of the discharges, during the night that the castle of Bach was taken, and who asserted that their master had fallen under his blows.

  The conviction of the judges was established; but it was necessary to obtain a confession from the criminal, and the tribunal decided that he should be put to the torture. When he was led into the room destined for these cruel proofs, where the servants of the executioner prepared, with revolting care, the horrible instruments, Andres, already enfeebled by grief and the privations of the prison life he had so long led, renewed his oaths; but when he found himself in the hands of the executioners, and felt the first approach of pain, his courage failed him, and he confessed all that they wished him to acknowledge.

  Taken back to prison, he had offered him, according to custom, a goblet filled with generous wine, to comfort him. The spirit of this beverage flew into his head, and he fell into a lethargy which was neither sleeping nor waking, but the absence of every active faculty.

  It seemed to him that stones were detached from the wall of his cell; a ruddy light threw a blood reflection into the darkness, and a figure which had every appearance of Ignaz Denner stood in the space formed by the fallen stones. This phantom had eyes like burning coals, short and bristling hair on his forehead, like horns; his thick black eye-brows formed a cavernous arch over his eyes, and his nose curved like the beak of a bird of prey. Rolled up in the folds of a flame colored cloak, his head surmounted by a Spanish hat with a scarlet plume, he wore at his side a long sword, and carried under his left arm a casket, like that which Andres had formerly received from the hands of Ignaz Donner.

 

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