The doctor cleared his throat dubiously: "We must first consider that. The sight of you would affect her seriously." Just then Miriam rushed into the passage, placing herself in front of the count. "Go away!" she screamed. "Go away!" she repeated, with determination. "Judith and her child shall remain here." "My good woman," said the count, soothingly, "I am very grateful to you for your kindness, but she will have better air and better attention at the castle." "I do not require your thanks," returned Miriam, almost in a whisper, and evidently controlling herself with great difficulty. "It is not every one who can be so merciful to Judith as you have been. But Judith shall stay here with me, and so shall her baby. No one can care for her better than I; and as for the air--there is no good air in your castle, Monsieur le Comte; it kills--" "I demand my rights!" replied Agenor. "I want my family." "Hush!" and Miriam went close to him, and whimpered in his ear: "You want your wife, were you going to say? Do not force me--" He drew back, and was silent. "Doctor!" he said, imploringly. But the old gentleman shook his head. "I fear I cannot help you. Come, gentlemen, the woman is needed inside." A few hours later the rumor of Judith's death spread through the town. Hundreds went to Roskowska to find out for a certainty. But the report was false. Perhaps it originated with the thought in the minds of the people that she could not recover. God had judged her; her grave was in readiness; it was in order for her to die. But as she did not, and the doctor reported her to be gradually recovering, the people, both Jews and Christians, became restless. How were they to judge her? In what light should they regard her? Yet, for all that, there was but one individual in the whole town who wished for her death with his entire heart. That was Herr Ludwig von Wroblewski. Her recovery threatened his safety. He had nothing to fear from the count; but if she lived, and informed against him, his pleasant, comfortable life was ended. He would have to exchange his palatial residence for a lowlier dwelling-place; and that the count would have to share this with him proved a poor consolation. The more favorable the bulletins, the more sleepless his nights; and when, three weeks after Judith's return, he heard she was able to be about, he begged Agenor for an audience. Although the count permitted him to occupy rooms in his house, and had not dared refuse his most insolent requests, yet he had had but one short conversation with him since his return, early in January. Agenor had avoided him assiduously, and Wroblewski had been obliged to deal with the lawyer. "He is a coward," thought the ex-magistrate, "and for that reason he dare not refuse to see me."