My room was supposed to be an exact copy of the famous Pilate’s chamber, and it was named so; and for three days my eyes were rejoiced by the detailed spectacle of our Lord’s Passion, from His flagellation to His agony on Calvary.

The Queen came to see me in this room, and did me the honour of being envious of so charming an apartment.

The fourth day, when the weather became fine, we prepared to change our quarters and take to our carriages again, when an extraordinary event obliged us to send a messenger for the King, who had already left us, and had gone forward to join the army.

An old peasant, still robust and in good health, performed in this gloomy castle the duties of a housekeeper.  In this capacity she frequently visited our rooms to receive our orders and satisfy our needs.

Seeing that the Queen’s boxes were being closed, and that our departure was at hand, she came to me and said: 

“Madame, the sovereign Lord of Heaven has willed it thus; that the officers of the French King should have discovered as the residence of his Court this castle amid gloomy forests and precipices.  The great prince has come hither and has stayed here for a brief while, and we have sought to welcome him as well as we could.  He gave the Comte de Bleink-Elmeink, lord of this place and my master, his portrait set in diamonds; he had far better have cut his throat.”

“Good heavens, woman!  What is this you tell me?” I exclaimed.  “Of what crime is your master guilty?  He seems to me to be somewhat moody and unsociable; but his family is of good renown, and all sorts of good things have been, told concerning it to the King and Queen.”

“Madame,” replied the old woman, drawing me aside into a window-recess, and lowering her voice, “do you see at the far end of yonder court an old dungeon of much narrower dimensions than the others?  In that dungeon lies the good Comtesse de Bleink-Elmeink; she has languished there for five years.”

Then this woman informed me that her master, formerly page of honour to the Empress Eleanor, had wedded, on account of her great wealth, a young Hungarian noblewoman, by whom he had two children, both of whom were living.  Such was his dislike of their mother, on account of a slight deformity, that for four or five years he shamefully maltreated her, and at last shut her up in this dungeon-keep, allowing her daily the most meagre diet possible.

“When, some few days since, the royal stewards appeared in front of the moat, and claimed admittance, the Count was much alarmed,” added the peasant woman.  “He thought that all was discovered, and that he was going to suffer for it.  It was not until the King and Queen came that he was reassured, and he has not been able to hide his embarrassment from any of us.”

“Where are the two children of his marriage?” I asked the old woman, before deciding to act.

“The young Baron,” she answered, “is at Vienna or Ohnutz, at an academy there.  His sister, a graceful, pretty girl, has been in a convent from her childhood; the nuns have promised to keep her there, and as soon as she is fourteen, she will take the veil.”