yourself, Navarrete! We too grieve for the sibyl; many in the camp will
miss her. As for Zorrillo, he had the password, and could go through the
gate at any hour. The body is still lying in his quarters."

"Indeed!" faltered the Eletto. Then calming himself, he said,
mournfully: "I wish to see her."

The captain walked silently by his side and opened the murderer's
dwelling.

There, on a bed of pine-shavings, in a rude coffin made of rough planks,
lay the woman who had given him birth, deserted him, and yet who so
tenderly loved him. A poor soldier's wife, to whom she had been kind,
was watching beside the corpse, at whose head a singly brand burned with
a smoky, yellow light. The little white dog had found its way to her,
and was snuffing the floor, still red with its mistress's blood.

Ulrich snatched the brand from the bracket, and threw the light on the
dead woman's face. His tear-dimmed eyes sought his mother's features,
but only rested on them a moment--then he shuddered, turned away, and
giving the torch to his companion, said, softly: "Cover her head."

The soldier's wife spread her coarse apron over the face, which-had
smiled so sweetly: but Ulrich threw himself on his knees beside the
coffin, buried his face, and remained in this attitude for many minutes.

At last he slowly rose, rubbed his eyes as if waking from some confused
dream, drew himself up proudly, and scanned the place with searching
eyes.