“My uncle,” she replied with downcast eyes, “my uncle brought me the tidings; he told me that Napoleon, through Count Bubna, had sent a courier to Totis, to the Emperor Francis, and asked your condemnation.  I hastened to Schoenbrunn; I succeeded in overcoming all obstacles and reaching the emperor.  I threw myself at his feet, confessed amid my tears that I loved you, begged for your life.  And he granted it; he became your intercessor to the Emperor Francis.  He wrote a few lines, which I was to convey to Totis myself.  I did so, hastening thither with post-horses.  I spoke to the emperor.  He was deeply moved, but he had not the courage to take any decisive step; he still dreaded offending his new ally.  The Emperor Napoleon begs me to grant Kolbielsky’s life, he said.  ’I will do so, but can do nothing more for the present.  I will grant him life, but I cannot give him liberty.  He must be taken to the Hungarian fortress Leopoldstadt.  There he must remain so long as he lives.’”

“To Leopoldstadt!  In an open grave,” cried Kolbielsky gloomily.  “Cut off from the world, in joyless solitude, far from you.  Oh, death, speedy death would be better and—­”

“No,” she interrupted, “not far from me!  I will remain with you.  The emperor at my fervent entreaty, permitted your servant, your faithful servant, to accompany you, share your imprisonment.  Now look at me, beloved, look at me.  I wear your livery, I am the faithful servant who has the right to go with you.  Oh! no, no, we will be parted no longer.  I shall stay with you.”

Clasping both arms around his neck, she pressed a glowing kiss upon his lips.

But Kolbielsky released himself from the sweet embrace and gently pushed her back.  “That can never be—­never will I accept such a sacrifice from you.  No, you shall not bury your beauty, your youthful bloom in a living tomb.  Your tender foot is not made to tread the rough paths of life.  The proud Baroness de Simonie, accustomed to the splendor, luxury, and comfort of existence must not drag out her life in unworthy humiliation.  I thank you, love, for the sacrifice you wish to make, but nothing will induce me to accept it.  Return to the world, my worshipped one!  Keep your love, your fidelity!  Wait for me.  Even though years may pass, the hour of liberty will at last strike and then I will return to you!”

“No, no!” she impetuously exclaimed.  “I will not leave you; I will cling to you.  You must not repulse me.  The emperor has given your servant the right to stay with you.  I am your servant.  I shall stay!”

“Leonore, I entreat you, do not ask what is impossible.  There are sacrifices which a man can never accept from the woman he loves—­which humiliate him as they ennoble her.  I should blush before your nobility; it would bow me into the dust.  Leonore de Simonie must not leave the pure, proud sphere in which she lives; she must remain what she is, the queen of the drawing-room.”