Isentrude sat with her,’and said it was fearful!—­beyond blasphemy! and that she looked like a Bible witch, sitting up drinking and swearing and glaring in her nightclothes and nightcap.  She was on a journey into Hungary, and claimed the hospitality of the castle on her way there.  Both were widows.  Well, it was a quarter to twelve.  The Electress dropped back on her pillow, as she always did when she had finished the candle.  Isentrude covered her over, heaped up logs on the fire, wrapped her dressing-gown about her, and prepared to sleep.  It was Winter, and the wind howled at the doors, and rattled the windows, and shook the arras—­Lord help us!  Outside was all snow, and nothing but forest; as you saw when you came to me there, Gretelchen.  Twelve struck.  Isentrude was dozing; but she says that after the last stroke she woke with cold.  A foggy chill hung in the room.  She looked at the Electress, who had not moved.  The fire burned feebly, and seemed weighed upon:  Herr Je!—­she thought she heard a noise.  No.  Quite quiet!  As heaven preserve her, says slip, the smell in that room grew like an open grave, clammily putrid.  Holy Virgin!  This time she was certain she heard a noise; but it seemed on both sides of her.  There was the great door leading to the first landing and state-room; and opposite exactly there was the panel of the secret passage.  The noises seemed to advance as if step by step, and grew louder in each ear as she stood horrified on the marble of the hearth.  She looked at the Electress again, and her eyes were wide open; but for all Isentrude’s calling, she would not wake.  Only think!  Now the noise increased, and was a regular tramp-grate, tramp-screw sound-coming nearer and nearer:  Saints of mercy!  The apartment was choking with vapours.  Isentrude made a dart, and robed herself behind a curtain of the bed just as the two doors opened.  She could see through a slit in the woven work, and winked her eyes which she had shut close on hearing the scream of the door-hinges—­winked her eyes to catch a sight for moment—­we are such sinful, curious creatures!—­What she saw then, she says she shall never forget; nor I!  As she was a living woman, there she saw the two dead princes, the Prince Palatine of Bohemia and the Elector of Bavaria, standing front to front at the foot of the bed, all in white armour, with drawn swords, and attendants holding pine-torches.  Neither of them spoke.  Their vizors were down; but she knew them by their arms and bearing:  both tall, stately presences, good knights in their day, and had fought against the Infidel!  So one of them pointed to the bed, and then a torch was lowered, and the fight commenced.  Isentrude saw the sparks fly, and the steel struck till it was shattered; but they fought on, not caring for wounds, and snorting with fury as they grew hotter.  They fought a whole hour.  The poor girl was so eaten up with looking on, that she let go the curtain and stood quite exposed among them.  So, to steady herself, she rested her hand on the bed-side; and—­think what she felt—­a hand as cold as ice locked hers, and get from it she could not!  That instant one of the princes fell.  It was Bohmen.  Bayern sheathed his sword, and waved his hand, and the attendants took up the slaughtered ghost, feet and shoulders, and bore him to the door of the secret passage, while Bayern strode after—­’