had the majority, then _a_, _o_, and _i_, and, last of all, _b_
and _u_. But of this she also wearied. Then she sat down to the piano,
and tried to calm her agitation by playing dreamy fantasias; neither
did this succeed. Her hands trembled, and she could not sustain
herself at the instrument, she was so wearied; and as the fatal hour
of midnight drew nearer she gave up making efforts to distract her
mind, and abandoned herself to thoughts of the impending ghostly
tumult. She found herself altogether under the influence of her
ancestral spectres, for she was always consumed with _ennui_ until the
noise began. Then a sort of fever would come to her; she would undress
herself, crawl into bed, draw the coverings over her head until she
broke into a perspiration, and then fall into a deep sleep. The next
morning, when she awoke, she really believed that she had witnessed
the scenes of which she had only dreamed.

This night she drew forth her talisman, the photograph of the abbe,
and tried to find some strength by considering it. She placed it
before her on the reading-desk and sat gazing at it. Was he really a
superior being, at whose command the doors of the castle would fly
open, spectres would vanish, and the gates of hell would close upon
them? It could not be that such things would happen. The more the
night advanced the greater grew her nervous fears. Her heart beat
loudly. It was not so much the nightly ghosts that she dreaded, but
this new and equally unearthly visitor. What was he? A wizard, an
enchanter like Merlin of old, or a saint come to exorcise and banish
her tormentors?

The weary lagging hours went by, until at last the pendulum of the old
clock began to vibrate, and its iron tongue gave out midnight. The
countess counted every stroke. Its vibration had hardly ceased when,
punctual to its usual time, the infernal noise began; from the vault
below the tones of the mass reached Theudelinde's ears. She was,
however, listening for another sound, listening with feverish anxiety
to catch a stealthy footfall in the adjoining room, to hear the rattle
of a key surreptitiously moving in the lock. Nothing! She came to the
door, and, putting her head to the keyhole, strained her ears in vain.
All was still. It was now a quarter past midnight; the tumult in the
vault below was in full swing--the witches' Sabbath, as it might be
called, with its yells, shouts, songs, prayers; it was as if all the
devils of hell had