“I will do so, sir!  Some day when you are Elector, and a reigning Sovereign in your land, then have compassion upon those who are enslaved and oppressed, then spare the Jews!”

She turned away, drew her veil over her head, and disappeared.

“My work is finished!  My beloved is atoned for!” exulted her soul.  As if borne on wings of happiness and bliss, she soared through the antechamber and stepped out into the vestibule.

All here was still and quiet, and she did not observe that the sentinel no longer stood at the door.  Her thoughts were withdrawn from the present, her soul was far away with him—­him whom she loved, for whom she had risked her life.

Thus she sped through the great space and approached the door between the two presses.  All at once she started and shrank back, and the tall, manly form standing before this door sprang forward, and with strong hand tore her veil impatiently from her head.

“Rebecca!”

“Count Schwarzenberg!”

For one moment they surveyed one another with flaming eyes.

She read her death sentence in his looks.  But she would not die.  No, she would not die!  She would see her beloved, her child once more!  With a sudden jerk she freed her arm from the hand that held her prisoner.  She knew not what to do, whither she could flee.  She had only a vague consciousness that to be alone with him meant death—­that she would he safe only outside the castle.  Without, on the street, Schwarzenberg would not venture to seize her, for he knew that she possessed his secret and that she would accuse him.  She flew across the vestibule, tore open the door to the long corridor, and sprang down it like a hunted deer.  But the pursuer was behind her, close behind her!  She heard his breath, he stretched out his hands toward her—­she felt his touch, and again she burst loose and flew away!

At the end of the corridor is a small staircase which leads to the upper stories.  She knows the way—­oh, she knows the way!  Above it is another long corridor, and if from the head of the stairs she turns to the right, she will reach the great staircase.  She will hurry down to the quarters of the castellan and his wife; she will call—­scream!

Oh, if she can only get so far!

She flies up the little steps, but she feels the pursuer close at her heels.  And just as she reaches the top step, his hand, like a lion’s paw, is laid upon her shoulder.

“Stand still, or I will strangle you!” he murmurs.  “Stand still, and I swear that I will not kill you!”

“No, no, I do not believe you!” she gasps, and with both hands she seizes his and thrusts it back.  Only on, on!  She no longer knows whether she turns to the right or left, she runs down the dimly lighted corridor, and he follows.

“O God!  O God! there is no staircase!” She has missed the way—­there is no way out now!  The dread enemy is behind her!  She can no longer avoid him!  He will kill her, for she knows his secret!  No escape!—­no deliverance!