But Baron Conrad was not dead. For days he lay upon his hard bed, now
muttering incoherent words beneath his red beard, now raving fiercely
with the fever of his wound. But one day he woke again to the things
about him.
He turned his head first to the one side and then to the other; there
sat Schwartz Carl and the one-eyed Hans. Two or three other retainers
stood by a great window that looked out into the courtyard beneath,
jesting and laughing together in low tones, and one lay upon the heavy
oaken bench that stood along by the wall snoring in his sleep.
“Where is your lady?” said the Baron, presently; “and why is she not
with me at this time?”
The man that lay upon the bench started up at the sound of his voice,
and those at the window came hurrying to his bedside. But Schwartz Carl
and the one-eyed Hans looked at one another, and neither of them spoke.
The Baron saw the look and in it read a certain meaning that brought
him to his elbow, though only to sink back upon his pillow again with a
groan.
“Why do you not answer me?” said he at last, in a hollow voice; then
to the one-eyed Hans, “Hast no tongue, fool, that thou standest gaping
there like a fish? Answer me, where is thy mistress?”
“I--I do not know,” stammered poor Hans.
For a while the Baron lay silently looking from one face to the other,
then he spoke again. “How long have I been lying here?” said he.
“A sennight, my lord,” said Master Rudolph, the steward, who had come
into the room and who now stood among the others at the bedside.
“A sennight,” repeated the Baron, in a low voice, and then to Master
Rudolph, “And has the Baroness been often beside me in that time?”
Master Rudolph hesitated. “Answer me,” said the Baron, harshly.
“Not--not often,” said Master Rudolph, hesitatingly.
The Baron lay silent for a long time. At last he passed his hands over
his face and held them there for a minute, then of a sudden, before
anyone knew what he was about to do, he rose upon his elbow and then sat
upright upon the bed. The green wound broke out afresh and a dark red
spot grew and spread upon the linen wrappings; his face was drawn and
haggard with the pain of his moving, and his eyes wild and bloodshot.
Great drops of sweat gathered and stood upon his forehead as he sat
there swaying slightly from side to side.
“My shoes,” said he, hoarsely.
Master Rudolph stepped forward. “But, my Lord Baron,” he began and then
stopped short, for the Baron shot him such a look that his tongue stood
still in his head.
Hans saw that look out of his one eye. Down he dropped upon his knees
and, fumbling under the bed, brought forth a pair of soft leathern
shoes, which he slipped upon the Baron’s feet and then laced the thongs
above the instep.
“Your shoulder,” said the Baron. He rose slowly to his feet, gripping
Hans in the stress of his agony until the fellow winced again. For a
moment he stood as though gathering strength, then doggedly started
forth upon that quest which he had set upon himself.
At the door he stopped for a moment as though overcome by his weakness,
and there Master Nicholas, his cousin, met him; for the steward had sent
one of the retainers to tell the old man what the Baron was about to do.
“Thou must go back again, Conrad,” said Master Nicholas; “thou art not
fit to be abroad.”
The Baron answered him never a word, but he glared at him from out of
his bloodshot eyes and ground his teeth together. Then he started forth
again upon his way.
Down the long hall he went, slowly and laboriously, the others following
silently behind him, then up the steep winding stairs, step by step,
now and then stopping to lean against the wall. So he reached a long
and gloomy passageway lit only by the light of a little window at the
further end.
He stopped at the door of one of the rooms that opened into this
passage-way, stood for a moment, then he pushed it open.
No one was within but old Ursela, who sat crooning over a fire with a
bundle upon her knees. She did not see the Baron or know that he was
there.
“Where is your lady?” said he, in a hollow voice.
Then the old nurse looked up with a start. “Jesu bless us,” cried she,
and crossed herself.
“Where is your lady?” said the Baron again, in the same hoarse voice;
and then, not waiting for an answer, “Is she dead?”
The old woman looked at him for a minute blinking her watery eyes, and
then suddenly broke into a shrill, long-drawn wail. The Baron needed to
hear no more.
As though in answer to the old woman’s cry, a thin piping complaint came
from the bundle in her lap.
At the sound the red blood flashed up into the Baron’s face. “What
is that you have there?” said he, pointing to the bundle upon the old
woman’s knees.
She drew back the coverings and there lay a poor, weak, little baby,
that once again raised its faint reedy pipe.
“It is your son,” said Ursela, “that the dear Baroness left behind her
when the holy angels took her to Paradise. She blessed him and called
him Otto before she left us.”