From time to time Benedict stopped the group with a gesture; a profound silence fell, and in this silence he cried: "Karl! Karl!" Helen with staring eyes and holding her breath, seemed like a statue of suspense. Nothing replied, and the little troop moved on. From time to time Helen also stopped, and automatically, under her breath, as if she was afraid of her own voice, called in her turn, "Karl! Karl! Karl!" They drew near the little wood and the corpses became fewer. Benedict made one of these pauses, followed by silence, and for the fifth or sixth time cried: "Karl!" This time, a lugubrious and prolonged cry replied, which sent a shudder through the heart of the bravest. "What is that cry?" asked the surgeon. "It is a dog, howling for some one's death," answered Fritz. "Can it be?" murmured Benedict. Then he went on, "Over here! over here!" directing them towards the voice of the dog. "My God!" cried Helen, "have you any hope?" "Perhaps, come, come!" and without waiting for the torches he ran ahead. When he came to the edge of the wood, he cried again: "Karl!" The same lugubrious, lamentable cry was heard, but nearer. "Come," said Benedict, "it is here!" Helen leapt over the ditch, entered the wood, and without thinking of her muslin dress which was being torn to rags, she pushed on through the bushes and thorns. The torch-bearers had been thoughtful enough to follow. There in the wood they heard the sound of the robbers fleeing. Benedict signed a halt in order to give them time to escape. Then all was silent again he called a third time: "Karl!" This time a howl, as lamentable as the two first, answered, but so close to them that all hearts beat quickly. The men recoiled a step. The boatman pointed. "A wolf!" said he. "Where?" asked Benedict. "There," said Fritz pointing. "Don't you see his eyes shining in the dark like two coals?" At that moment a flash of lightning penetrated the trees, and showed distinctly a dog sitting beside a motionless body. "Here, Frisk!" cried Benedict. The dog made one bound to his master's neck and licked his face; then again, taking his place beside the corpse, he howled more lamentably than ever. "Karl is there!" said Benedict. Helen sprang forward, for she understood it all. "But he is dead!" continued Benedict. Helen cried out and fell on Karl's body. CHAPTER XXVI THE WOUNDED MAN The torchbearers had come up and a group, picturesque and terrible, was formed, by the bright light of the burning resin. Karl had not been plundered like the other corpses, the dog had guarded his body and prevented this. Helen was stretched upon him, her lips to his, weeping and groaning. Benedict was on his knees beside her, with the dog's paws on his shoulders. The surgeon stood, his arms folded, like a man accustomed to death and its sadness. Fritz had thrust his head through the leaves of a thorn-tree. Every one was silent and motionless for a moment.