,
and walked swiftly to the stairs. In silent speed they mounted till
they had reached the top of the first stage; and facing them, eight or
ten steps farther up, was a door. By the door stood a groom. This was
the man who had treacherously told Christian of his master's doings;
but when he saw, suddenly, what had come of his disloyal chattering,
the fellow went white as a ghost, and came tottering in stealthy
silence down the stairs, his finger on his lips. Neither of them spoke
to him, nor he to them. They gave no thought to him; his only thought
was to escape as soon as he might; so he passed them, and, going on,
passed also the chamberlain, who stood dazed at the house door, and so
disappeared, intent on saving the life that he had justly forfeited.
Thus the rogue vanished, and what became of him no one knew nor cared.
He showed his face no more at Glottenberg or Strelsau.

"Hark! there are voices," whispered Osra to the bishop, raising her
hand above her head, as they two stood motionless.

The voices came from the door that faced them, the voice of a man and
the voice of a woman. Osra's glance at her companion told him that she
knew as well as he whose the man's voice was.

"It is true, then," she breathed from between her teeth. "My God, it
is true!"

The woman's voice spoke now, but the words were not audible. Then came
the prince's: "Forever, in life or death, apart or together, forever."
But the woman's answer came no more in words, but in deep, low,
passionate sobs, that struck their ears like the distant cry of some
brute creature in pain that it cannot understand. Yet Osra's face was
stern and cold, and her lips curled scornfully when she saw the
bishop's look of pity.

"Come, let us end it," said she; and with a firm step she began to
mount the stairs that lay between them and the door.

Yet once again they paused outside the door, for it seemed as though
the princess could not choose but listen to the passionate words of
love that pierced her ears like knives. Yet they were all sad,
speaking of renunciation, not happiness. But at last she heard her own
name; then, with a sudden start, she caught the bishop's hands, for
she could not listen longer. And she staggered and reeled as she
whispered to him: "The door, the door--open the door!"

The bishop, his right hand being across his body and resting on the
hilt of his sword, laid his left upon the handle of the door and
turned it. Then he flung the