The captain walked silently by his side and opened the murderer’s dwelling.

There, on a bed of pine-shavings, in a rude coffin made of rough planks, lay the woman who had given him birth, deserted him, and yet who so tenderly loved him.  A poor soldier’s wife, to whom she had been kind, was watching beside the corpse, at whose head a singly brand burned with a smoky, yellow light.  The little white dog had found its way to her, and was snuffing the floor, still red with its mistress’s blood.

Ulrich snatched the brand from the bracket, and threw the light on the dead woman’s face.  His tear-dimmed eyes sought his mother’s features, but only rested on them a moment—­then he shuddered, turned away, and giving the torch to his companion, said, softly:  “Cover her head.”

The soldier’s wife spread her coarse apron over the face, which-had smiled so sweetly:  but Ulrich threw himself on his knees beside the coffin, buried his face, and remained in this attitude for many minutes.

At last he slowly rose, rubbed his eyes as if waking from some confused dream, drew himself up proudly, and scanned the place with searching eyes.

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.