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.

He was the Eletto, and thus men honored the woman who was dear to him!

His mother lay in a wretched pauper's coffin, a ragged camp-follower
watched beside her--no candles burned at her head, no priest prayed for
the salvation of her soul!

Grief was raging madly in his breast, now indignation joined this gloomy
guest; giving vent to his passionate emotion, Ulrich wildly exclaimed:

"Look here, captain! This corpse, this woman--proclaim it to every
one--the sibyl was my mother yes, yes, my own mother! I demand respect
for her, the same respect that is shown myself! Must I compel men to
render her fitting honor? Here, bring torches. Prepare the catafalque in
St. Martin's church, and place it before the altar! Put candles around
it, as many as can be found! It is still early! Lieutenant! I am glad
you are there! Rouse the cathedral priests and go to the bishop. I
command a solemn requiem for my mother! Everything is to be arranged
precisely as it was at the funeral of the Duchess of Aerschot! Let
trumpets give the signal for assembling. Order the bells to be rung! In
an hour all must be ready at St. Martin's cathedral! Bring torches here,
I say! Have I the right to command--yes or no? A large oak coffin was
standing at the joiner's close by. Bring it here, here; I need a better
death-couch for my mother. You poor, dear woman, how you loved flowers,
and no one has brought you even one! Captain Ortis, I have issued my
commands! Everything must be done, when I return;--Lieutenant, you have
your orders!"

He rushed from the death-chamber to the sitting-room in his own house,
and hastily tore stalks and blossoms from the plants. The maid-servants
watched him timidly, and he harshly ordered them to collect what he had
gathered and take them to the house of death.

His orders were obeyed, and when he next appeared at Zorrillo's
quarters, the soldiers, who had assembled there in throngs, parted to
make way for him.

He beckoned to them, and while he went from one to another, saying: "The
sibyl was my mother--Zorrillo has murdered my mother," the coffin was
borne into the house.

In the vestibule, he leaned his head against the wall, moaning and
sighing, until Florette was laid in her last bed, and a soldier put his
hand on his shoulder. Then Ulrich strewed flowers over th