Vavel had already seen battered walls, and dwellings ruined by bombs and flames, yet the thought that he should find his loved ones amid these smoke-blackened ruins oppressed his heart.

The two men attracted no attention.  In the last days there had been many strangers in the city, deputations from the militia camps, to assist in establishing the line of demarcation.  Master Matyas, without difficulty, led the way among the ruins to the neat little abode where the worthy vice-palatine had established his proteges.  When they came within sight of the house Matyas observed: 

“The two Frenchmen with their bearskin caps are not on guard to-day.  The vice-palatine’s servant seems to be doing sentry-duty.”

Vavel applied his spurs and cantered briskly toward the house, but moderated his speed when he came nearer.  He remembered how easily Marie was frightened by the clatter of horse-hoofs.

At the corner of the street he alighted, and cautioning Matyas to exercise slowly the fatigued horses, proceeded on foot to the house.

The servant on guard at the door saluted in military fashion with drawn sword.  Ludwig hurried into the house.  In the hall he encountered the little Laczko, who, at sight of the visitor, dropped the boot and brush he held in his hands, and disappeared through a door at the end of the hall.  Vavel followed him, and found himself in the kitchen, where the widow of Satan Laczi also dropped to the floor the cooking-utensil she had in her hand.

The count did not stop to question her, but went on into the adjoining room, whence proceeded the sound of voices, and here he found three acquaintances—­the vice-palatine, Dr. Tromfszky, and the surveyor, Herr Doboka.  The three started in alarm when they beheld Vavel.  The doctor even made as if he would rush from the room—­as when in the Nameless Castle the furious invalid had seized his groom by the throat.

The expressions on the three startled countenances brought a sudden fear to Ludwig’s heart.

“Is any one ill here?” he asked.

The vice-palatine and the doctor looked at each other, but did not speak; the surveyor began to stammer: 

“I say—­I say that—­”

“Is Marie ill?” interrupted Vavel, excitedly.

Herr Bernat silently nodded assent, and pointed toward the door leading into the next room.

Vavel did not stop to inquire further, but strode into the adjoining chamber.

What a familiar little room it was, another fairy-like retreat like that of the Nameless Castle!  Here were Marie’s toys, her furniture; the four cats were purring in the window-seat, and the two pugs lay dozing on the sofa.

A canopy-bed stood in the alcove, and among the pillows lay Marie.  Katharina was sitting by the bedside.

“Oh, God!” cried Vavel, in a tone so full of anguish that every one who heard it, man, woman, and child, burst into tears.  The invalid among the pillows alone laughed—­laughed aloud for joy.