With these words he turned his face toward the light.  It was a very repulsive countenance.

“Do you think there is another face that the description of mine would fit, Herr Count?” he asked, a certain melancholy softening the repulsiveness of his features.  “But what is the use of such senseless chatter?” he added hastily.  “I am not silly enough to come here seeking honor and respect—­though it does vex me when people say that one man with a cudgel put to flight Satan Laczi and three of his comrades.  I came here to-night because the Herr Count rescued my poor little lad from the morass, gave him shelter and food, and even condescended to teach him.  For all this I owe you, Herr Count, and I am come to return favor for favor.  You are thinking:  ’How can this robber repay me what he owes?’ I will tell you:  by giving you a robber’s information.  I want to prove to the Herr Count that the robber—­the true robber who understands his trade—­can enter this securely barred castle whenever he is so minded.  The locks on the doors, the bolts on the windows, are no hindrance to the man who understands his business, and the way I came in another can come as well.  It is said that the Herr Count guards a great treasure here in this castle.  I don’t know, and I don’t ask, what this treasure is.  If I should find it, I would n’t take it from the Herr Count, and if any one else took it I should try to get it back for him.  But some one may steal in here, as I did, while the Herr Count is looking at the stars up in the tower, and carry off his carefully guarded treasure.”

Count Vavel gave utterance to a groan of terror; his knees gave way beneath him; a chill shook his entire frame.

“Marie!” he gasped, forgetting himself.

Then, hastily snatching the candle from the table, he rushed frantically toward the young girl’s sleeping-chamber, leaving Satan Laczi alone in his room.

Since he had ceased guarding Marie’s door at night by sleeping on the lounge in her room, he had cautioned her to lock the door before retiring.  Now he found the door open.

Breathless with fear, the count sprang toward the alcove and flung back the bed-curtains.  The little maid was sleeping peacefully, her face resting against her arm.  Her favorite cat was lying at her feet, and on the floor by the bedside lay the two pugs.  But the door of the wall-cupboard in which was hidden the steel casket stood wide open, and on the casket was a singular toy—­a miniature human figure turning a spinning-wheel.

For an instant Count Vavel’s heart ceased beating.  Here was sufficient proof that the maid, together with the steel casket, might have been carried away during his absence.

He took the curious image, which was molded of black bread, and returned to his room.

As he crossed the threshold, Satan Laczi pointed to the toy and said: 

“I left it on the casket as a remembrance in exchange for the little stockings some one in this house knit for my little lad.  We learn to make such things in prison, where time hangs heavily on one’s hands.”