And they succeeded—­in this way.  They persuaded his betrothed, a lovely mischievous young creature, niece of the lord of the castle, to help them in their plot.  She presently took him aside and had speech with him.  She used all her persuasions, but could not shake him; he said his belief was firm, that if he should sleep there he would wake no more for fifty years, and it made him shudder to think of it.  Catharina began to weep.  This was a better argument; Conrad could not out against it.  He yielded and said she should have her wish if she would only smile and be happy again.  She flung her arms about his neck, and the kisses she gave him showed that her thankfulness and her pleasure were very real.  Then she flew to tell the company her success, and the applause she received made her glad and proud she had undertaken her mission, since all alone she had accomplished what the multitude had failed in.

At midnight, that night, after the usual feasting, Conrad was taken to the haunted chamber and left there.  He fell asleep, by and by.

When he awoke again and looked about him, his heart stood still with horror!  The whole aspect of the chamber was changed.  The walls were moldy and hung with ancient cobwebs; the curtains and beddings were rotten; the furniture was rickety and ready to fall to pieces.  He sprang out of bed, but his quaking knees sunk under him and he fell to the floor.

“This is the weakness of age,” he said.

He rose and sought his clothing.  It was clothing no longer.  The colors were gone, the garments gave way in many places while he was putting them on.  He fled, shuddering, into the corridor, and along it to the great hall.  Here he was met by a middle-aged stranger of a kind countenance, who stopped and gazed at him with surprise.  Conrad said: 

“Good sir, will you send hither the lord Ulrich?”

The stranger looked puzzled a moment, then said: 

“The lord Ulrich?”

“Yes—­if you will be so good.”

The stranger called—­“Wilhelm!” A young serving-man came, and the stranger said to him: 

“Is there a lord Ulrich among the guests?”

“I know none of the name, so please your honor.”

Conrad said, hesitatingly: 

“I did not mean a guest, but the lord of the castle, sir.”

The stranger and the servant exchanged wondering glances.  Then the former said: 

“I am the lord of the castle.”

“Since when, sir?”

“Since the death of my father, the good lord Ulrich more than forty years ago.”

Conrad sank upon a bench and covered his face with his hands while he rocked his body to and fro and moaned.  The stranger said in a low voice to the servant: 

“I fear me this poor old creature is mad.  Call some one.”

In a moment several people came, and grouped themselves about, talking in whispers.  Conrad looked up and scanned the faces about him wistfully.