Sold to the Count of Erana

Towards Christmas time, in the year 1780, as I lay soundly sleeping in my room at the Swan Tavern, in Tübingen, old Gideon Sperver burst suddenly into my room, crying, "Gaston, my boy, I have come to take you back with me to the Castle! You know Nideck, twenty miles from here,-the estate of my master, the Count of Nideck!"

My failure to respond was perhaps due to the fact that I had not seen my worthy foster-father for twenty years, that in this time he had grown a full beard, and that now, in my half-aroused condition, he appeared before me thus, with a huge fur cap pulled down over his ears, and holding an ill-smelling lantern just under my nose.

"In the first place," I replied, "let's take up things in their proper order. Who are you?"

"Who am I?" repeated the good fellow, with such genuine surprise and distress in his tones that I felt a somewhat embarrassing sense of ingratitude. "What! Don't you remember your foster-father, Gideon Sperver, the General's old ranger who saved your life as a child, in the swamp of the Losser?" And his voice became so husky that he stopped and cleared his throat.

"Ah, my dear Gideon, I know you now, indeed! Give me your hand!" We gripped each other's hands, and Sperver, passing his sleeve across his eyes, continued, "You know Nideck?"

"Of course, by reputation. What are you doing there?"

"I am the Count's steward."

"And how did you happen to come hither?"

"The young Countess Odile sent me to fetch you."

"Very good. When are we to start?"

"At once. It is an urgent matter; the old Count is very ill, and his daughter begged me to lose no time. The horses are waiting for us below."

"But, my dear Gideon, just look at the weather; it has been snowing for three days!"

"Pshaw! We are not starting on a boar hunt. Put on your fur coat, fasten on your spurs, and we are off! Meanwhile, I will order a bite for you to eat."

He disappeared, and, as I never could refuse the chosen companion of my childhood anything from my youngest days, I hurriedly dressed myself, and lost no time in following him into the dining-room.

"Ah, I knew you would not let me go back alone!" he cried delightedly. "Swallow down this slice of ham and drink a stirrup-cup, for the horses are growing impatient. I have strapped your valise to the saddle."

"What is that for?"

"You will be needed for some days at Nideck; that is indispensable. I will explain everything to you on the way."

We went down into the inn yard. At that moment two horsemen arrived. They seemed exhausted, and their horses were white with lather.

Sperver, who was a great lover of horses, exclaimed in surprise, "What beautiful animals! They are Wallachians; fine and swift as deer. Come, make haste and throw a blanket over them, my lad," he continued, addressing the hostler, "or they may take cold!"

The travellers, enveloped in white astrakhan greatcoats, passed close to us just as were putting foot in the stirrup. I could only distinguish the long brown moustache of one, and his dark eyes that were singularly bright. They entered the inn. The groom released our bridles and wished us a safe journey. We set off at a gallop.

Sperver rode a pure Mecklenberg, and I was mounted on a spirited horse of Ardennes; we fairly flew over the snow. In ten minutes we had left the outskirts of Tübingen behind us. It was beginning to clear up. All trace of our road had become obliterated by the considerable fall of snow. Our only companions were the ravens of the Black Forest, spreading their great hollow wings above the drifts, lighting for an instant here and there, and crying in discordant notes, "Misery! Misery! Misery!" Gideon, buried in his coat of wild-cat skin and fur cap, galloped on ahead. Suddenly he turned in the saddle and called, "Hey, Gaston! This is what they call a fine winter's morning."

"So it is; but a bit severe."

"I like the clear cold weather; it makes you tingle. If old Parson Toby had the courage to start out in such weather, he would never feel his rheumatism again."

I smiled as well as my stiff cheeks would let me. After an hour of this furious pace Sperver slowed down and let me catch up with him. "Gaston," he said in a serious tone, "you ought to know the circumstances of the master's illness."

"I was just thinking of that."

"The more so, as a great number of doctors have already visited the Count."

"Indeed."

"Yes; they have come from Paris, Berlin, and even Switzerland, and have made a most careful study of their patient and employed all their skill, but to no purpose."

As no answer seemed called for, I remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"The Count's disease is a terrible affliction somewhat akin to madness. It returns every year on the same day and at the same hour; his eyes grow red as fire, he shudders from head to foot, and he mutters incoherently."

"The man has undoubtedly become unbalanced through trouble and adversity."

"No! Not so! He possesses power and wealth and untold honors,-everything, in short, that other people most desire; but the most singular part of it is that he fancies if his daughter would only consent to marry, it would effect his cure; and she as strangely refuses even to entertain the idea, maintaining that she has consecrated her life to God. The Count cannot bear to think that the ancient race of Nideck must perish with her."

"How did his illness first declare itself?"