une has its peculiar privileges," replied Althea in a faint and
tuneless voice; "I was prepared for all harshness when I resolved to
come here, and you can treat me as seems good and proper to yourself;
but you must hear me once again; I will not stir from this spot first."

"Speak, then, that I may at last get quit of this torment."

"My intended husband is condemned to die. I will no longer contend with
you whether he has deserved death, or whether you have a right to
inflict it; but the power of pardon belongs incontestably to the
emperor. I, therefore, only implore you to defer the execution of the
sentence till the return of a messenger whom I will despatch to Vienna
with my supplication. That cannot militate against your office. On the
contrary, it would become you not to anticipate the clemency of your
master in a business wherein you must yourself confess you are a party.
In the meantime let the condemned remain in your power, and if the
emperor pronounces the dreadful NO, we must submit to what cannot be
avoided."

"Let the Herr von Tausdorf live, dear burgomaster," said the little
Henry, at other times so defying, but now in tears, and kissed the hand
of Erasmus with humility. "I am a fatherless orphan, and he would be so
good a father to me!"

But the burgomaster withdrew his hand from the child, and eyed now him,
now Althea, with piercing glances.

"Take our share in Bogendorf for the brief respite," cried Althea,
observing the inveteracy in the eyes of Erasmus. "I will readily make
it over to you this very day, and support myself and my son by the
labour of my hands, if by that I can only purchase the slightest hope
for the safety of the man whom my soul loves."

"You are a fair and a wise lady, Frau von Netz," said the burgomaster
at last; "but the old Erasmus is yet too wise for you. You will not
find in him the fool you seek."

"Let mercy prevail!" cried Althea in despair, and embraced his knees
with wild energy. "Let mercy prevail, as you would that God should one
day be merciful to you!"

"Back!" exclaimed the burgomaster indignantly, and pushed her from him.
"My son is dead. Neither your wealth nor your tears can make him alive
again. Blood demands blood, and Tausdorf must die!"

"Not another word of supplication," cried the little Henry to his
mother, who was exhausted by her agony; "tis a pity you offered any to
the wicked man. Has not uncle Netz told you a hundred times that the
rich bur