With a last effort of strength Count Schwarzenberg resumed his self-control.  He raised his head, affecting his usual proud and self-satisfied air.  “Gabriel Nietzel!” he cried, “Whence come you?  What would you have of me?  How did you come in here?”

“How did I come in?” repeated he.  “Through yon door!”

And he pointed at the door opening upon the secret staircase.  “I came twice and begged to be allowed access to you, but was refused.  This time I admitted myself.  You once sent me down the secret stairway, and pointed out that mode of exit to me yourself, when your son was coming to visit you.  What do I want?  I want you to give me my wife, my Rebecca; and if you have murdered her, I want your life!”

“Would you murder me?” exclaimed the count in horror, while moving slowly backward.  Keeping his eyes fixed upon Gabriel Nietzel, he sought to gain the door to his bedchamber.  But Nietzel guessed his design and disdainfully shook his head.  “Do not take that trouble,” he said.  “I have abstracted both keys and put them in my pocket.  You can not escape me.”

Count Schwarzenberg’s eyes darted a quick, involuntary glance across at the round table on which stood his bell.  Nietzel intercepted this glance and understood that the count meant to call his people.  He took up the bell and thrust it into his bosom.

“Give up your efforts to evade me,” he said.  “God sends me to you.  God will punish your crime by means of this hand, which you once bribed to commit a murderous deed.  Count Schwarzenberg, you have acted the part of the devil toward me!  You have robbed me of my soul!  Give it back to me!  I demand of you my soul!”

“He is insane,” said Count Schwarzenberg, softly to himself.  But Nietzel caught his meaning.

“No,” he said sorrowfully—­“no, I am not insane.  God has denied me that consolation.  I know what has been, and what is.  There was a time—­a glorious, blessed time—­when I forgot everything, when all pain was banished, and I was happy—­ah, so happy!  They said, indeed, that I was mad; they called it sickness, forsooth, and locked me up, and tormented me.  But I was so happy, for I saw my Rebecca always before me, she was ever at my side and—­Count, where have you left my Rebecca?  Where is she?  Give her to me!  I will have her again, my own Rebecca!  Give her back to me, directly, on the spot!”

He seized him with both his arms, his hands clutching his shoulders like claws.  “Where is Rebecca—­my Rebecca?”

Gabriel Nietzel stared at the count with frenzied fury, with devouring grief.  Schwarzenberg cast down his eyes, a shudder passed over his frame, and terror-stricken he turned his head.  It seemed to him as if, while Gabriel pressed upon his shoulders in front, some one came stealthily up to him from behind.  He heard a cry—­a death cry!  The Fury was there again!  He could not escape her now!

“Let me go, Gabriel Nietzel,” he said feebly.  “Quit your hold, go away.  I will give you treasures, honors, distinctions, if you only quit your hold and go away!”