The sick man turned his face toward the screen and listened in dreamy ecstasy to the sweet voice.  He raised his hand, waved it weakly toward the speaker, then clasped it with the other on his breast, while his lips moved as if in prayer.

“Go fetch candles, and the tinder-box,” whispered Marie to the little Laczko.  “Place them here by the sofa, then light the lamp in the corridor.”

“May I fetch my gun, too?” asked the boy.

“Your gun?  What for?”

“I should n’t be afraid if I had it with me.”

“Then fetch it; but don’t come into the room with it, for I am dreadfully afraid of guns.  Leave it just outside the door.”

It was quite dark when Laczko returned with the candles and a heavy double-barreled fowling-piece.  He carefully placed the latter in the corner, then asked: 

“Shall I light the candles now?”

“Certainly not.  I don’t want the gentleman to know that I am here.  Maybe he may want something, and open the screen.  I am going to lie down on this sofa, and you are to stand close by the alcove and watch the gentleman.  If he should lift the screen, and I have fallen asleep, you must waken me at once.”

Marie wrapped herself in her shawl, and lay down on the leather couch.  Laczko took up his station as directed, close by the metal screen, through which he peered from time to time.

But there was no danger of Marie falling asleep.  She could not even keep her eyes closed.  Every few moments she would sit up and ask in a cautious whisper: 

“What is he doing now?”

“He is tossing from side to side.”

This reply was repeated several times.

At last the answer came that the invalid was perfectly quiet, whereupon
Marie decided not to inquire again for an hour.

Suddenly she heard the lad say, in a trembling voice: 

“I am dreadfully frightened.”

“What of?” whispered Marie.

“The gentleman lies so still.  He has n’t stirred for a long time.”

“He is asleep, I dare say.”

“If he were sleeping his breast would rise and fall; but he is perfectly still.”

Marie rose, and hastened to the screen.  The smoking wick in the night-lamp near Cambray’s head illumined his ghastly face.  Marie had already seen one such pallid countenance—­that of the old servant Henry when he lay dead on his bier.

She shuddered, and retreated with trembling limbs, drawing the lad with her.

“You may light the candle now,” she whispered; “then we will go back to Lisette.”

Laczko lighted the candle, then shouldered his gun, and preceded his young mistress down the staircase to the lower story.

They had almost reached the door of Lisette’s room when Marie, who had been peering sharply ahead, stopped abruptly, and exclaimed in a startled tone: 

“There is a man!”

Even as she spoke a dark form stepped from a doorway into the corridor in front of them.  Marie retreated several steps; but her little escort proved that he was made of sterner stuff.  He placed himself valiantly in front of his young mistress, laid his gun against his cheek, and aiming directly for the stranger’s breast, said, in a brave tone: