“Is she dead?” she asked, lifting an anxious glance to Ludwig’s face.

“No, she is not dead,” replied the count, who was attentively scanning the unconscious woman’s face.

“What is the matter with her?” pursued the baroness, with evident distress.

The count now recognized the woman’s face.  He had seen her with the lad who had been his protege, and who was now a member of the baroness’s household.  It was the wife of Satan Laczi.

“No, she is not dead,” he repeated; “she has only fainted.”

The baroness hastily fetched her smelling-salts, and held them to the unconscious woman’s nostrils.

“Peasant women have strong constitutions,” observed the count.  “When such a one loses consciousness a perfume like that will not restore her; she needs to be bled.”

“But good heavens!  What are we to do?  I can’t think of sending for the doctor now!  I don’t want him to hear of what has happened here to-night.”

“I understand bloodletting,” observed Vavel.

“You, Herr Count?”

“Yes; I have studied medicine and surgery.”

“But you have no lance.”

“I brought my chirurgic instruments with me.”

“Then you thought you might find here some one who had fainted?” exclaimed the baroness, wonderingly.

“Yes.  I shall require the assistance of a maid to hold the woman’s arm while I perform the operation.”

“I don’t want any of the servants wakened.  Can’t I—­help you?” she suggested hesitatingly.

“Are not you afraid of the sight of blood, baroness?”

“Of course I am; but I will endure that rather than have one of my maids see you here at this hour.”

“But this one will see me when she recovers consciousness.”

“Oh, I can trust this one; she will be silent.”

“Then let us make an attempt.”

The result of the attempt was, the fainting maid was restored to consciousness by the skilfully applied lance, while the face of the assisting lady became deathly pale.  Her eyes closed, her lips became blue.  Fortunately, she had a more susceptible nature than her maid.  A few drops of cold water sprinkled on her face, and the smelling-salts, quickly restored her to consciousness.  During these few moments her head had rested on the young man’s shoulder, her form had been supported on his arm.

“Don’t trouble any further about me,” she murmured, when she opened her eyes and saw herself in Vavel’s arms; “but attend to that poor woman”; and she hastily rose from her recumbent position.

The woman was shivering with a chill—­or was it the result of extreme terror?  If the former, then a little medicine would soon help her; but if it was terror, there was no remedy for it.

To all questions she returned but the one answer:  “Oh, my God! my God!”

The baroness and Count Vavel now returned to the outer room.