The gates of the manor were open, as was usual in Hungarian manors day and night.  The count crossed the court, and as he turned the corner of the house there happened what he had predicted:  the masked man who was on watch at the door gave a shrill whistle, then dashed into the shrubbery.  Count Vavel did not give chase to the fleeing thief, but, swinging his cudgel around his head, ran through the open door into the hall.  Here a lamp was burning.  He hurried into the salon, and saw, as he entered, two more of the robbers jump from the window into the garden.

Count Ludwig hurried on toward the adjoining room, whence came the faint light of a lamp.  The light came from another room still farther on.  It was the sleeping-chamber of the lady of the house.  There were no robbers here, but on the table lay jewelry and articles of silver which had been emptied from the cases lying about the floor.  In an arm-chair which stood near the bed-alcove reclined a female form, the arms and hands firmly bound with cords to the chair.

What a beautiful creature!  The clinging folds of her dressing-robe revealed the perfect proportions of her figure.  Her hair fell like a golden cataract to the floor.  Modest blushes and joy at her deliverance made the lovely face even more enchanting when the knightly deliverer entered the room—­a hero who came with a cudgel to do battle against a band of robbers, and conquered!

“I am Count Vavel,” he hastened to explain, cudgel in hand, that the lady might not think him another robber and fall into a faint.

“Pray release me,” in a low tone begged the lady, her cheeks crimsoning with modest shame when he bent over her to untie the cords.

The task was quickly performed; the count took a knife from his pocket and cut the cords; then he turned to look for a bell.

“Please don’t ring,” hastily interposed the baroness.  “Don’t rouse my people from their slumbers.  The robbers are gone, and have taken nothing.  You came in good time to help me.”

“Did the rascals ill-treat you, baroness?”

“They only tied me to this chair; but they threatened to kill me if I refused to give them money—­they were not content to take only my jewelry.  I was about to give them an order to the steward, who has charge of my money, when your arrival suddenly ended the agreement we had made.”

“Agreement?” repeated the count.  “A pretty business, truly!”

“Pray don’t speak so loudly; I don’t want any one to be alarmed—­and please go into the next room, where you will find my maid, who is also bound.”

Count Vavel went into the small chamber which communicated with that of the baroness, and saw lying on the bed a woman whose hands and feet were bound; a handkerchief had been thrust into her mouth.  He quickly released her from the cords and handkerchief; but she did not stir:  she had evidently lost consciousness.

By this time the baroness had followed with a lighted candle.  She had flung a silken shawl about her shoulders, thrust her feet into Turkish slippers, and tucked her hair underneath a becoming lace cap.