dly any recollection remained to him of what happened during
the rest of that night of drunkenness and debauchery.

CHAPTER VII.

THE MOUSE-TRAP.

Dawn was about to succeed the night in which Broute-Saule was killed by
Berthoald. Profoundly asleep and with his hands pinioned behind his
back, the young chief lay upon the floor of Meroflede's bedchamber.
Wrapped in a black cloak, her face pale and half veiled by her now loose
thick red hair that almost reached the floor, the abbess proceeded to
the window, holding in her hand a lighted torch of rosin. Leaning over
the sill whence the horizon could be seen at a distance, the abbess
waved her torch three times, while intently looking towards the east
which began to be tinted with the approaching day. After a few minutes,
the light of a large flame, that rose from a distance behind the
retreating shades of night, responded to Meroflede's signal. Her
features beamed with sinister joy. She dropped her torch into the moat
that surrounded the monastery, and then proceeded to awaken Berthoald by
shaking him rudely. Berthoald was with difficulty drawn from his
lethargy. He sought to take his hand to his forehead, but found that he
was pinioned. He raised himself painfully upon his leaden feet, and
still unclear of mind he contemplated Meroflede in silence. The abbess
extended her bare arms towards the horizon, that dawn was feebly
lighting, and said: "Do you see yonder, far away, the narrow road that
crosses the pond and prolongs itself as far as the outer works of the
abbey?"

"Yes," said Berthoald, struggling against the strange torpor that still
paralyzed his mind and will, without thereby wholly clouding his
intellect; "yes, I see the road surrounded by water on all sides."

"Did not your companions in arms camp on that road during the night?"

"I think so," replied the young chief, seeking to collect his confused
thoughts; "last evening ... my companions--"

"Listen!" put in the abbess nervously and placing her hand upon the
young man's shoulder. "Listen ... what do you hear from the side on
which the sun is about to rise?"

"I hear a great rumbling noise ... that seems to draw nearer towards us.
It sounds like the rush of waters."

"Your ear does not deceive you, my valiant warrior;" and leaning upon
Berthoald's shoulder: "Yonder, towards the east, lies an immense lake
held in by dikes and locks."

"A lake? What of it?"

"The level of its waters is eigh