into the belief that the very Lawyer
employed by the Baron was the criminal in disguise, and what pearly
teeth she showed when the Lawyer was seized and gagged! how dexterously
she ascertained the weak point in the character of the "King's
Lieutenant" (jeune premier), who was deputed by his royal master to aid
the Remorseless Baron in trouncing the Bandit! how cunningly she learned
that he was in love with the Baron's ward (jeune amoureuse), whom that
unworthy noble intended to force into a marriage with himself on account
of her fortune! how prettily she passed notes to and fro, the Lieutenant
never suspecting that she was the Bandit's child, and at last got the
king's soldier on her side, as the event proved! And oh, how gayly, and
with what mimic art, she stole into the Baron's castle, disguised as
a witch, startled his conscience with revelations and predictions,
frightened all the vassals with blue lights and chemical illusions, and
venturing even into the usurper's own private chamber, while the tyrant
was tossing restless on the couch, over which hung his terrible sword,
abstracted from his coffer the deeds that proved the better rights of
the persecuted Bandit! Then, when he woke before she could escape
with her treasure, and pursued her with his sword, with what glee she
apparently set herself on fire, and skipped out of the casement in an
explosion of crackers! And when the drama approached its _denouement_,
when the Baron's men, and the royal officers of justice, had, despite
all her arts, tracked the Bandit to the cave, in which, after various
retreats, he lay hidden, wounded by shots, and bruised by a fall from a
precipice,--with what admirable byplay she hovered around the spot, with
what pathos she sought to decoy away the pursuers! it was the skylark
playing round the nest. And when all was vain,--when, no longer to be
deceived, the enemies sought to seize her, how mockingly she eluded
them, bounded up the rock, and shook her slight finger at them in scorn!
Surely she will save that estimable Bandit still! Now, hitherto, though
the Bandit was the nominal hero of the piece, though you were always
hearing of him,--his wrongs, virtues, hairbreadth escapes,--he had never
been seen. Not Mrs. Harris, in the immortal narrative, was more quoted
and more mythical. But in the last scene there was the Bandit, there in
his cavern, helpless with bruises and wounds, lying on a rock. In rushed
the enemies, Baron, High S