As soon as the count saw the bag he made a bound towards the bed and
kneeled upon it with one knee; there was a shaking of the curtains, his
body disappeared beneath their folds, and I could only see one leg still
resting on the floor, and the wolf's tail undulating irregularly from
side to side.

They seemed to be acting a murder in ghastly pantomime. No real scene,
however frightful, could have agitated me more than this mute
representation of some horrible deed.

Then the old woman ran to his assistance, carrying the bag with her.
Again the curtains shook and the shadows crossed the walls; but the most
horrible of all was that I fancied I saw a pool of blood creeping across
the floor and slowly reaching the hearth. But it was only the snow that
had clung to the count's boots, and was melting in the heat.

I was still gazing upon this dark stream, feeling my dry tongue cleave to
the roof of my mouth, when there was a great movement; the old woman and
the count were stuffing the sheets of the bed into the sack, they were
thrusting and stamping them in with just the same haste as a dog
scratching at a hole, then the lord of Nideck flung this unshapely bundle
over his shoulder and made for the door; a sheet was dragging behind him,
and the old woman followed him torch in hand. They went across the court.

My knees were almost giving way under me; they knocked together for fear.
I prayed for strength.

In a couple of minutes I was on their footsteps, dragged forward by a
sudden irresistible impulse.