"Ach, Herr Gott!" she cries, clapping her hands together, "what's that?"
It is very faint, very distant; but quite audible in the dead silence of
the night. In an instant I know what it is that has happened!
"It is the report of a musket!" I exclaim, seizing her by the hand, and
dragging her across the courtyard. "Quick! quick! Oh, Monsieur Maurice!
Monsieur Maurice!"
The night is very dark. There is no moon, and the stars, glimmering through
a veil of haze, give little light. But we run as recklessly as if it were
bright day, past the barracks, past the parade-ground, and round to the
great gates on the garden side of the Chateau. These, however, are closed,
and the sentry, standing watchful and motionless, with his musket made
ready, refuses to let us through.
In vain I remind him that I am privileged, and that none of these gates are
ever closed against me. The man is inexorable.
"No, Fraeulein Gretchen," he says, "I dare not. This is not a fit hour for
you to be out. Pray go home."
"But Gaspar, good Gaspar," I plead, clinging to the gate with both hands,
"tell me if he has escaped! Hark; oh, hark! there it is again!"
And another, and another shot rings through the still night-air.
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