In the vestibule of the schloss, which was full of sleeping soldiers, the corporal summoned a personage, in whom I recognised Karl Karsseboom, in whose ear he repeated the order of the count, and muttering curses at the trouble I caused them, these two worthies, after carefully loading their muskets, desired me gruffly to follow them, and leaving the schloss by a drawbridge which spanned the snow-filled ditch, we set forth, on what errand I knew not. The storm of wind and snow was over now. Morning was at hand; the stars shone clear and brilliantly, and so bright was the reflection of the snow that every object could be discerned as distinctly as at noon-day. The silence was profound; even our foot-falls were muffled in the white waste, from amid which the fir-trees stood up like sheeted spectres. I was weary and chilled, being without any muffling; my head was giddy with the recent blow, and the keen frosty air affected me severely. I asked the corporal if they were conducting me to the ford of the Lahn. "Not quite so far," replied he, gruffly. My unexpected interview with Jacqueline, her coolness, her general bearing, had all bewildered me, and painfully wounded my self-esteem and pride, crushing my old love, and creating an emotion that wavered between wonder and--shall I term it so?--disgust. She had proved so cold-blooded, so--but enough of Jacqueline; let me to my story, or we shall never make an end. Again I asked my guides whither they were conveying me, and their object? "Beelzebub!" muttered the corporal; "how impatient you are. You will find out too soon, perhaps. Karl, are we a mile from the schloss yet?" "Scarcely," grumbled Karsseboom, looking back. I recalled the whispered order of Bourgneuf, and the terrible conviction came upon me that I was to be conducted to the _distance_ of a mile or so, where the _sound of firing might not disturb_ the countess--to be there shot and _buried in the snow_! Thus did a keen sense of danger supply the wanting words. What was I to do--unarmed, weak, weary, and powerless? I could grapple with neither of my guards without the risk of being shot by the other; and to be led out thus--I, an officer on parole, a prisoner of war, protected by the promise of the Duc de Broglie--led out to be butchered by two unscrupulous ruffians, and without a struggle--the thought was too dreadful for contemplation. But such was the intended sequel to that night's adventures. Halting close to a thicket about a mile distant from the schloss, the irregular outline of which was clearly defined against the starry sky, the corporal told me to "stand still, or march ten paces forward, and then turn round." "For what purpose?" "You will soon see," replied Karsseboom, as he slapped the butt of his musket with cool significance, and proceeded to kick, or scoop with his feet, a long trench in the soft snow. "You do not--you cannot mean to butcher me here?" said I, following them closely.