He stole back to the stairs and listened. It was Marietta.

It was really a most embarrassing job now, for there was no retreat, so
he crept upon tip-toe into the room, of which the door stood ajar.

It was a bedroom, dimly lighted by an oil lamp.

A cursory glance showed him that this room had only been lately
vacated, and that one or more of the ladies had been dressing here for
the ball.

Within a few feet of the door was a looking-glass let into the wall as
a panel, and reaching from floor to ceiling.

Mathias listened in great anxiety for the footsteps on the stairs, and
every moment they sounded nearer and nearer.

"I hope she will not come in here," thought the robber, "else I shall
have to make her sure."

He showed how he meant to "make her sure" by toying with the hilt of
his dagger.

Mathias crouched down, and crept under the bed, just in time, as the
pert young lady skipped into the room.

Her first care was to turn up the lamp, and by its light she looked
about her.

"I think they might have taken me to the ball with them," she said,