'Mademoiselle, about half-an-hour ago, was told that you had been attacked on the road, and left dangerously wounded; that you were dying, in fact, and had sent for her; so she instantly went with them, in search of you.' 'With _them_!--with whom, fellow?--and who told her all this?' 'M. le Comte de Bitche, who came hither hurriedly and clamorously inquiring for the young girl of Nanci, whom an abbé had brought from Paris. He gave her these dreadful tidings, and sadly terrified and grieved the poor little thing became; but she threw on her hood, and hastened to you.' 'Accompanied by whom?--speak fellow, speak!' 'M. le Comte, and two other gentlemen of Monseigneur de Vaudemont's suite.' 'Eternal infamy! it has all been a decoy--a snare! Oh, Nicola, Nicola! what insanity prompted me to leave you, even for a moment? Was the Prince with them?' 'No monsieur, no,' replied the aubergiste, trembling. 'Which way did they take her?--towards Commercy?' 'No; towards Nanci.' I was about to spring on poor Dagobert, but remembered his mutilation, and perceived at once the whole details of the trick which had been played me by the Count de Bitche, on hearing my request concerning the safety of Nicola--a request made so solemnly to Vaudemont before we fought. And so she had been carried away by this brutal and unscrupulous noble, whose forcible abduction of the beautiful Countess of Lutzelstein was so notorious throughout all Germany and France; a crime which was followed by another more terrible; for the corpse of that unfortunate lady, who had been savagely strangled, was left ignominiously stripped in the woods near his castle in Lorraine; and in her hands was found a portion of a velvet pourpoint, which she had clutched in her dying struggles, and which, by its remarkable lacing, was known to have been worn by the Count. And Nicola was in his power! 'The Count is a sorcerer, Monsieur l'Abbé,' said the aubergiste, imploringly; 'so beware what you do. He is said to attend the sabbat in the forest of St. Michel; he anoints himself with the fat of unbaptized children; he dries up the milk of poor men's cattle, and turns the gold of the rich into birchen chips; and he has an ointment which he puts on his eyes, to enable him to see where treasure is hidden. It was thus he found the gold which Charles VII. buried in his old Rendezvous de Chasse, in the forest of Loches, where it was guarded by a dragon. Beware, M. l'Abbé, beware! or at least do not name me; for I am a poor man, whom he would think no more of hanging than he would of drinking a cup of wine.'