the door open.

I was about to seize her by the hair, when at the end of the long
gallery, under the Gothic archway of the castle leading to the ramparts,
I saw--a tall figure.

It was the Count of Nideck!

The Count of Nideck, whom I had thought a dying man, clad in a huge
wolf-skin thrown with its upper jaw projecting grimly over his eyes like
a visor, the formidable claws hanging over each shoulder, and the tail
dragging behind him along the flags.

He wore stout heavy shoes, a silver clasp gathered the wolf-skin round
his neck, and his whole aspect, but for the ice-cold deathly expression
of his face, proclaimed the man born for command--the master!

In the presence of such an imposing personage my ideas became vague and
confused. Flight was no longer possible, yet I had the presence of mind
to throw myself into the embrasure of the window.

The count entered my room with his eyes fixed on the old woman and his
features unrelaxed. They spoke to one another in hoarse whispers, so low
that I could not distinguish a word. But there was no mistaking their
gestures. The woman was pointing to the bed.

They approached the fireplace on tiptoe. There in the dark shadow of the
recess at its side the Black Plague, with a horrible smile, unrolled a
large bag.