At a distance of two hundred paces could be seen a couple of men standing by a watch-fire, while beyond them, within the cemetery, five or six more fires were burning in a group, indicating the encampment of the squadron. "I was right," added the old woman. "You two go on now; you won't need me any longer." Taking Edith by the hand, Baroness Baradlay advanced toward the first watch-fire. The sentinels saw their approach, but did not challenge them until they were very near. "Halt! Who goes there?" cried one of the horsemen. "Friends," was the answer. "Give the countersign." "Saddle horses and right about!" At this the hussar sprang from his saddle, approached the baroness, and kissed her hand respectfully. "We have been looking for you, madam," said he. "Do you know who I am, Paul?" "Yes, madam, and thank heaven you are here safely." "Where is my son?" "I will take you to him at once. And that pretty little creature?" he asked, in a low tone, pointing to Edith. "She comes with me." "I understand." The old hussar left his horse in his comrade's care and led the two women toward a small whitewashed house which stood within the cemetery, and had formerly been used as the grave-digger's dwelling, but now served as Richard's quarters. He occupied a little room that looked out upon the city, and this room he had that moment entered after a late night ride. "There they are again!" he cried, bringing his fist down heavily on the table, upon which the latest newspapers from Pest were spread out, showing a number of articles marked with red. "Into the fire with them!" But, angry as he seemed to be at finding the papers thrust upon his notice, Captain Baradlay could not persuade himself to burn them unread; and having once begun to read, he could not stop. Resting his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, he read over and over again the marked passages, his brow darkening as he proceeded. "It is not true, it cannot be true!" he exclaimed, struggling with his feelings. "It is all false, it is utterly preposterous!" At the sound of approaching footsteps, he crumpled the papers up in his hand. Old Paul entered, and Richard turned upon him in a passion. "What thieving rascal has been stealing into my room and leaving these infamous newspapers on my table?" Paul made answer with his accustomed phlegm: "If you told me a thief had carried off something, I could understand it; but that a thief should bring you something is stranger than anything I ever heard of." "A bundle of newspapers is smuggled through my locked door every day, and laid on my table. Who does it?" "What do I know of newspapers? I can't read." "You are trying to fool me, Paul," rejoined his master. "Don't you suppose I know that you have been learning to read these last three months? Who is your teacher?"