The sad maiden, however, was perfectly silent, and looking into her
melancholy eyes he discerned a doubt in them if even the joy of heaven
could compensate for that which we suffer and are deprived of on earth.
After a little while Blanche began, "Is the dear God then displeased if
an angel looking down yearns for the earth?"
"No," murmured Gottfried, "but he is sad, very sad!"
X
For two nights she had had no sleep; on the third she was exhausted and
slept soundly, and dreamed a sweet--wonderfully sweet dream.
It seemed to her that she met her beloved in the garden. A delicious
perfume was wafted from the crown of the lindens, soft greenish shadows
spread twilight over the earth, and all nature, as in measureless
rapture, held its breath, no lightest touch of air stirred--she lay in
his arms, love-enchanted and his lips closed her mouth.
Thus she dreamed--when suddenly she sprang up as if one had struck her
heart with an iron hammer.
Was not that the sound of a horse's hoof which broke on the stillness
of night? In her long white nightdress she flew to the window.
She recognised him, notwithstanding the speed of his horse, and in
spite of the curtain of darkness with which midnight sought to veil his
figure. She bent far over the window-breasting and stretched out her
arms; a frightful longing confused her senses, and she sang--poor
child!--without knowing what the words meant:
"Si tu veux m'apaiser
Redonne--moi la vie
Par l'esprit d'un baiser.
"Heureux sera le jour
Quand je mourrai d'amour!"
Louder and louder the voice swelled out, piercing as a cry of anguish;
yet full of a powerful sweetness the song echoed through the sultry
stillness of night. It struck the ear of the rider. He checked his
horse, looked around him, and then spurred the animal anew until he
leaped wildly on.
She bent forward--farther forward,--"Plus d'espoir!" she groaned. Her
heart was so heavy, so heavy! Beneath, the dew glistened like a silver
sheen over the azure fields, out of which an angel seemed calling her
to "Cool rest--cool rest!"
She bent forward--forward! and then fell many, many fathoms deep into
the moat below.
* * * * *
The heavy fall was heard in the castle, and soon the servants with
torches hurried forth to see what had happened.
There, below, glimmered something white as a blossom broken off by the
storm. They climbed down. The light of the torches played over a pale,
lovely face which smiled in death. She was not disfigured, not a
particle of dust, not a speck of mud or soil of earth, adhered to her
white garment, although she had fallen among plants growing in the mud.
In spotless purity the white folds wound about her beautiful limbs. And
when the people saw this, they marvelled, and said, "A miracle!" Then
one pressed through the throng, deathly pale with distorted face--Henri
de Lancy!
But Gottfried coldly turned him away from the dead maiden.
Right tenderly the old soldier lifted the lovely body in his arms,
murmuring:
"Her heart was broken--she is released!"