Three days after the fatal night, at nine o'clock in the morning,
Hermann repaired to the Convent of ----, where the last honors were to
be paid to the mortal remains of the old Countess. Although feeling no
remorse, he could not altogether stifle the voice of conscience, which
said to him: "You are the murderer of the old woman!" In spite of his
entertaining very little religious belief, he was exceedingly
superstitious; and believing that the dead Countess might exercise an
evil influence on his life, he resolved to be present at her obsequies
in order to implore her pardon.

The church was full. It was with difficulty that Hermann made his way
through the crowd of people. The coffin was placed upon a rich
catafalque beneath a velvet baldachin. The deceased Countess lay
within it, with her hands crossed upon her breast, with a lace cap
upon her head, and dressed in a white satin robe. Around the
catafalque stood the members of her household; the servants in black
caftans, with armorial ribbons upon their shoulders and candles in
their hands; the relatives--children, grandchildren, and
great-grandchildren--in deep mourning.

Nobody wept, tears would have been an affectation. The Countess was so
old that her death could have surprised nobody, and her relatives had
long looked upon her as being out of the world. A famous preacher
delivered the funeral sermon. In simple and touching words he
described the peaceful passing away of the righteous, who had passed
long years in calm preparation for a Christian end. "The angel of
death found her," said the orator, "engaged in pious meditation and
waiting for the midnight bridegroom."