"The story is not as you have told it," said Amalie, the grey old
governess. Every one turned and looked at her in astonishment. She was
wont to sit silent and prim and faded in her place at table, never
speaking unless some one spoke to her, and there were few who troubled
themselves to make conversation with her. To-day a sudden volubility had
descended on her; she continued to talk, rapidly and nervously, looking
straight in front of her and seeming to address no one in particular.

"It is not when _any one_ dies in the castle that the howling is heard.
It was when one of the Cernogratz family died here that the wolves came
from far and near and howled at the edge of the forest just before the
death hour. There were only a few couple of wolves that had their lairs
in this part of the forest, but at such a time the keepers say there
would be scores of them, gliding about in the shadows and howling in
chorus, and the dogs of the castle and the village and all the farms
round would bay and howl in fear and anger at the wolf chorus, and as the
soul of the dying one left its body a tree would crash down in the park.
That is what happened when a Cernogratz died in his family castle. But
for a stranger dying here, of course no wolf would howl and no tree would
fall. Oh, no."

There was a note of defiance, almost of contempt, in her voice as she
said the last words. The well-fed, much-too-well dressed Baroness stared
angrily at the dowdy old woman who had come forth from her usual and
seemly position of effacement to speak so disrespectfully.

"You seem to know quite a lot about the von Cernogratz legends, Fraulein
Schmidt," she said sharply; "I did not know that family histories were
among the subjects you are supposed to be proficient in."