he young Frederick, during the conference, seemed agitated by a
variety of emotions. He soon, however, recovered his composure, and an
expression of determined malignancy settled upon his countenance, as
he gave peremptory orders that a certain chamber should be immediately
locked up, and the key placed in his own possession.

"Have you heard of the unhappy death of the old hunter Berlifitzing?"
said one of his vassals to the Baron, as, after the departure of the
page, the huge steed which that nobleman had adopted as his own, plunged
and curvetted, with redoubled fury, down the long avenue which extended
from the chateau to the stables of Metzengerstein.

"No!" said the Baron, turning abruptly toward the speaker, "dead! say
you?"

"It is indeed true, my lord; and, to a noble of your name, will be, I
imagine, no unwelcome intelligence."

A rapid smile shot over the countenance of the listener. "How died he?"

"In his rash exertions to rescue a favorite portion of his hunting stud,
he has himself perished miserably in the flames."

"I-n-d-e-e-d-!" ejaculated the Baron, as if slowly and deliberately
impressed with the truth of some exciting idea.

"Indeed;" repeated the vassal.

"Shocking!" said the youth, calmly, and turned quietly into the chateau.

From this date a marked alteration took place in the outward demeanor
of the dissolute young Baron Frederick Von Metzengerstein. Indeed, his
behavior disappointed every expectation, and proved little in accordance
with the views of many a manoeuvering mamma; while his habits and
manner, still less than formerly, offered any thing congenial with
those of the neighboring aristocracy. He was never to be seen beyond
the limits of his own domain, and, in this wide and social world, was
utterly companionless--unless, indeed, that unnatural, impetuous, and
fiery-colored horse, which he henceforward continually bestrode, had any
mysterious right to the title of his friend.

Numerous invitations on the part of the neighborhood for a long time,
however, periodically came in. "Will the Baron honor our festivals
with his presence?" "Will the Baron join us in a hunting of the
boar?"--"Metzengerstein does not hunt;" "Metzengerstein will not
attend," were the haughty and laconic answers.

These repeated insults were not to be endured by an imperious nobility.
Such invitations became less cordial--less frequent--in time they ceased
altogether. The widow of the unfortunate Count