to the Emperor Francis to pronounce sentence of death upon
the assassin."

"He lives? You will swear that he lives?" she asked breathlessly.

"I will swear that he lives, and that he will live until the return of the
courier whom Count Bubna, who is in Schoenbrunn attending to the peace
negotiations--has sent to Totis to the Emperor Francis."

The Baroness de Simonie bounded like a tigress through the room, tearing at
the bell till it sounded like a tocsin and the servants came rushing in
terror from the anteroom.

"My carriage--it must be ready in five minutes!" she cried. The servants
ran out and Leonore darted across the room, tore open the door of the
adjoining chamber, opened a wardrobe in frantic haste, and dragged out a
cloak, which she flung over her shoulders.

"In heaven's name, Leonore, are you out of your senses?" asked her father,
who had hurried after her and now seized her arm. "What do you mean to do?
Where are you going?"

"To the Emperor Napoleon!" she cried loudly. "To the Emperor Napoleon, to
save the life of the man I love. Give me the money, father!"

"What money, Leonore?"

"The bank-notes! The blood-money which I have earned!"

Her father had carefully gathered up the bank-bills which she had thrown
about the room, and gave them to her. Leonore shuddered as she clenched
them in her trembling hands. "I have sold him," she shrieked, raising the
hand that held the papers toward heaven. "His blood clings to this money.
But I will hurl it at the emperor's feet. I want no pay; I will beg his
life for my recompense. Pray father, pray that he may hear me, may grant me
mercy, for I swear by all that is sacred, if Kolbielsky must die, I will
kill his murderers. And his murderers are--you and I!"

"The carriage is at the door," said a servant, entering.

She sprang forward. "I am coming. Pray, father, pray for mercy upon my
loved one's murderers!"

CHAPTER VIII.

PARDON.

Four days had elapsed since the execution at Schoenbrunn. Baron von
Kolbielsky had been forced to attend it and was then conveyed to Vienna to
spend dreary, lonely days at the police station in the Krebsgasse.

He had vainly asked at least to be led before his judges to receive his
sentence. The jailer, to whom Kolbielsky uttered these requests whenever he
entered, always replied merely with a silent shrug of the shoulders, and
went away as mute as he had come.

But yesterday, late in the evening, he had entered