"He passed on, and I rejoined Albert to make a pilgrimage to the cavern of the Schreckenstein, which he desired once more to see with me. I was melancholy and unhappy. I there suffered under the most lugubrious emotions. The dark place, the Hussite bones, of which Albert had built an altar by the mysterious fountain, the admirable and touching tone of his violin--I know not what terrors--darkness, and the superstitions which here took possession of him, and which I could scarcely shake from my own mind----" "Say all. He fancied he was John Ziska--that he was endowed with eternal life--the memory of the events of past centuries--in fine, he was as mad as the Count de St. Germain is." "Yes, madame, since you know all; his convictions made such an impression on me, that instead of curing him, I almost participated in it." "Can your mind, then, notwithstanding your courageous heart, be weak?" "I do not pretend to a strong mind. Whence could I have derived this power? The only real education I have was derived from Albert. How is it possible for me not to have felt his influence, and partaken of his illusions? He had so much, and so many, truths in his soul, that I could not discern error and separate it from truth. In this cavern I felt that my reason was deserting me. What most terrified me was the fact that I did not meet Zdenko, as I had expected. For several months he had not been seen. As he persisted in being angry with me, Albert had exiled him from his presence, after a violent discussion, beyond doubt, for he seemed to regret it. Perhaps he thought that when he left him Zdenko had killed himself. At all events, he spoke of him in enigmatical terms, and with mysterious concealments, which terrified me. I fancied, (may God forgive me the idea!) that in an access of fury Albert, being unable to make the unfortunate man renounce his intention of destroying me, had murdered him." "Why, then, did Zdenko hate you?" "This was one of the consequences of his madness. He said that he had dreamed that I killed his master, and afterwards danced over his tomb. Oh! madame, this sad prediction has been fulfilled. My love killed Albert, and eight days after I made my _début_ in one of the gayest _buffo_ operas in Berlin. I was compelled to do so, I know; and my heart was filled with grief. The sad fate of Albert was accomplished as Zdenko had foretold." "My God! your story is so diabolical that I begin to forget where I am, and lose my senses as I listen to you. But, go on; all this may be explained, certainly?" "No, madame. The fantastic world which Albert and Zdenko bore in their souls has never been explained to me; and, like myself, you must be satisfied merely with a knowledge of the results." "Then the count at least did not kill the poor buffoon?"