silence down the stairs, his finger on his lips. Neither of them spoke
to him, nor he to them. They gave no thought to him; his only thought
was to escape as soon as he might; so he passed them, and, going on,
passed also the chamberlain, who stood dazed at the house door, and so
disappeared, intent on saving the life that he had justly forfeited.
Thus the rogue vanished, and what became of him no one knew nor cared.
He showed his face no more at Glottenberg or Strelsau.

"Hark! there are voices," whispered Osra to the bishop, raising her
hand above her head, as they two stood motionless.

The voices came from the door that faced them, the voice of a man and
the voice of a woman. Osra's glance at her companion told him that she
knew as well as he whose the man's voice was.

"It is true, then," she breathed from between her teeth. "My God, it
is true!"

The woman's voice spoke now, but the words were not audible. Then came
the prince's: "Forever, in life or death, apart or together, forever."
But the woman's answer came no more in words, but in deep, low,
passionate sobs, that struck their ears like the distant cry of some
brute creature in pain that it cannot understand. Yet Osra's face was
stern and cold, and her lips curled scornfully when she saw the
bishop's look of pity.

"Come, let us end it," said she; and with a firm step she began to
mount the stairs that lay between them and the door.

Yet once again they paused outside the door, for it seemed as though