s after her husband's death, the count's wife, Godegisele,
gave birth to a son, who was the grandfather of my grandfather."

"Strange coincidence, indeed ... and you, my beautiful abbess, listen to
the story with great calmness!"

"What are those combats of our ancestors and of our races to me? By
Venus! By her beautiful hips! I know but one race in all the world--the
race of lovers! Empty your cup, my valiant warrior, and let us sup
merrily. To-night there is a truce between us two.... War to-morrow!"

"Shame! Remorse! Reason! Duty!--let them all be drowned in wine!... I
know not whether I am awake or dreaming on this strange night!" cried
the young chief, and taking up his full cup, he rose and proceeded with
an air of feverish defiance while turning towards the somber and savage
portrait of the Frankish warrior: "To you, Neroweg!" Having emptied his
cup, Berthoald felt seized with a vertigo and threw himself upon the
lounge, saying to Meroflede: "Long live Love, abbess of the devil! Let
us love each other to-night, and fight to-morrow!"

"We shall fight on the spot!" cried a hoarse and strangling voice, that
seemed to proceed from the extremity of the large hall that lay in utter
darkness, and, the curtains of one of the doors being thrust aside,
Broute-Saule, who, without the knowledge of the abbess and driven by
savage jealousy, had managed to penetrate into the apartment, rushed
forward agile like a tiger. With two bounds he reached Berthoald, seized
him by the hair with one hand and raised a dagger over him with the
other, determined to plunge the weapon into the young chief's throat.
The latter, however, although taken by surprise, quickly drew his sword,
held with his iron grip the armed hand of Broute-Saule, and ran his
weapon through the unfortunate lad. Deadly wounded, Broute-Saule
staggered about for a few seconds and then dropped, crying: "Meroflede
... my beautiful mistress ... I die under your eyes!"

Still holding his bloody sword in his hand, and aware that the powerful
wine was making further inroads upon his senses, Berthoald mechanically
fell back upon the lounge. The dazed chief for a moment scrutinized the
darkness of the apartment, apprehensive of further attempts upon his
life, when he saw the abbess knock over with her fist the candelabrum
which alone lighted the room, and in the midst of the total darkness
that now pervaded the place he felt himself in the close embrace of the
monster. Har