“Is the carriage ready, sir?” Consuelo said, when the latter was finished.  “If so I am ready also, and we can set out instantly.”

“I shall follow you,” said Porpora.  “Only we must be in Berlin in a week’s time.”

The carriage and horses were already in the courtyard, and in a few minutes the baron and Consuelo were on their journey to the castle of the Rudolstadts.

At the doorway of the castle they were met by the aged canoness, who, seizing Consuelo by the arm, said: 

“We have not a moment to lose.  Albert begins to grow impatient.  He has counted the hours and minutes till your arrival, and announced your approach before we heard the sound of the carriage wheels.  He was sure of your coming; but, he said, if any accident detained you, it would be too late.  Signora, in the name of Heaven, do not oppose any of his wishes; promise all he asks; pretend to love him.  Albert’s hours are numbered; his life is close.  All we ask of you is to soothe his sufferings.”  Then, as they approached the great saloon, she added, “Take courage, signora.  You need not be afraid of surprising him, for he expects you, and has seen you coming hours ago.”

The door opened and Consuelo darted forward to her lover.  Albert was seated in a large arm-chair before the fire.  It was no longer a man, it was a spectre, Consuelo saw.  His face, still beautiful, was as a face of marble.  There was no smile on his lips, no ray of joy in his eyes.  Consuelo knelt before him; he looked fixedly at her, and then, giving a sign to the canoness, she placed his arms on Consuelo’s shoulders.  Then she made the young girl lay her head on Albert’s breast, and the dying man whispered in her ear:  “I am happy.”  With another sign, he made the canoness understand that she and his father were to kiss his betrothed.

“From my very heart!” exclaimed the canoness, with emotion.  The old count who had been holding his brother’s hand in one of his and Porpora’s in the other, left them to embrace Consuelo fervently.

The doctor urged an immediate marriage.

“I can answer positively for nothing,” he said, “but I venture to think much good may come of it.  Your excellency consented to this marriage formerly——­”

“I always consented to it.  I never opposed it,” said the count.  “It was Master Porpora who wrote to say that he would never consent, and that she likewise had renounced all idea.  Alas, it was the death-blow to my unhappy child!”

“Do not grieve,” murmured Albert to Consuelo.  “I have understood for many days now that you were faithful.  I know that you have endeavoured to love me, and have succeeded.  But we have been deceived, and you must forgive your master, as I forgive him.”

Consuelo looked at Porpora, and the old musician reproached himself for homicide, and burst into tears.  Only Consuelo’s consent was necessary, and this was given.