He was the Eletto, and thus men honored the woman who was dear to him!

His mother lay in a wretched pauper’s coffin, a ragged camp-follower watched beside her—­no candles burned at her head, no priest prayed for the salvation of her soul!

Grief was raging madly in his breast, now indignation joined this gloomy guest; giving vent to his passionate emotion, Ulrich wildly exclaimed: 

“Look here, captain!  This corpse, this woman—­proclaim it to every one —­the sibyl was my mother yes, yes, my own mother!  I demand respect for her, the same respect that is shown myself!  Must I compel men to render her fitting honor?  Here, bring torches.  Prepare the catafalque in St. Martin’s church, and place it before the altar!  Put candles around it, as many as can be found!  It is still early!  Lieutenant!  I am glad you are there!  Rouse the cathedral priests and go to the bishop.  I command a solemn requiem for my mother!  Everything is to be arranged precisely as it was at the funeral of the Duchess of Aerschot!  Let trumpets give the signal for assembling.  Order the bells to be rung!  In an hour all must be ready at St. Martin’s cathedral!  Bring torches here, I say!  Have I the right to command—­yes or no?  A large oak coffin was standing at the joiner’s close by.  Bring it here, here; I need a better death-couch for my mother.  You poor, dear woman, how you loved flowers, and no one has brought you even one!  Captain Ortis, I have issued my commands!  Everything must be done, when I return;—­Lieutenant, you have your orders!”

He rushed from the death-chamber to the sitting-room in his own house, and hastily tore stalks and blossoms from the plants.  The maid-servants watched him timidly, and he harshly ordered them to collect what he had gathered and take them to the house of death.

His orders were obeyed, and when he next appeared at Zorrillo’s quarters, the soldiers, who had assembled there in throngs, parted to make way for him.

He beckoned to them, and while he went from one to another, saying:  “The sibyl was my mother—­Zorrillo has murdered my mother,” the coffin was borne into the house.

In the vestibule, he leaned his head against the wall, moaning and sighing, until Florette was laid in her last bed, and a soldier put his hand on his shoulder.  Then Ulrich strewed flowers over the corpse, and the joiner came to nail up the coffin.  The blows of the hammer actually hurt him, it seemed as if each one fell upon his own heart.

The funeral procession passed through the ranks of soldiers, who filled the street.  Several officers came to meet it, and Captain Ortis, approaching close to the Eletto, said:  “The bishop refuses the catafalque and the solemn requiem you requested.  Your mother died in sin, without the sacrament.  He will grant as many masses for the repose of her soul as you desire, but such high honors....”