But no one answered the question. Since her last birthday Ludwig had not occupied the lounge in her room. Marie had discovered this. She had placed a rose-leaf on the silken coverlet every evening, and found it still there in the morning. If any one had slept on the lounge, the rose-leaf would have fallen to the floor. The following day Ludwig was more silent than usual. He did not speak once during their drive, and ate hardly anything at meals. One could easily see how impatiently he waited for evening, when he might go down to the lake and search for the monster--a sorry object for a fury such as his! An otter, most likely, or a beaver--mayhap an abortion of the Dead Sea, which had survived the ages since the days of Sodom! All the same, it was a living creature, and must become food for fishes. Marie, however, prayed so fervently that nothing might come of Ludwig's fury that Heaven heard the prayer. The weather changed suddenly in the afternoon. A cold west wind succeeded to the warm August sunshine; clouds of dust arose; then came a heavy downpour of rain. Ludwig was obliged to forego his intention to row about on the lake in the evening. He spent the entire evening in his room, leaving Marie to complain to her cats; but they were sleepy, and paid no attention to what she said. The little maid had no desire to go to bed; she was afraid she might dream again of horrible things. The heavy rain beat against the windows; thunder rumbled in the distance. "I should not like to venture out of the house in such weather," said Marie to her favorite cat, who was dozing on her knee. "Ugh-h! just think of crossing the lonely court, or going through the dark woods! Ugh-h! how horrible it must be there now! And then, to pass the graveyard at the end of the village! When the lightning flashes, the crosses lift their heads from the darkness--ugh-h!" The clock struck eleven; directly afterward there came a hesitating knock at her door. "Come in! You may come in!" she called joyfully. She thought it was Ludwig. The door opened slowly, only half-way, and the voice which began to speak was not Ludwig's; it was the groom. "Beg pardon, madame!" (thus he addressed the little maid). "Is it you, Henry? What do you want? You may come in. I am still up." The groom entered, and closed the door behind him. He was a tall, gray-haired man, with an honest face and enormously large hands. "What is it, Henry? Did the count send you?" "No, madame; I only wish he were able." "Why? What is the matter with him?" "I don't know, indeed! I believe he is dying." "Who? Ludwig?" "Yes, madame; my master." "For God's sake, tell me what you mean!" "He is lying on his bed, quite out of his mind. His face is flushed, his eyes gleam like hot coals, and he is talking wildly. I have never seen him in such a condition." "Oh, heaven! what shall we do?"