id, indeed, that I was
mad; they called it sickness, forsooth, and locked me up, and tormented
me. But I was so happy, for _I_ saw my Rebecca always before me, she was
ever at my side and--Count, where have you left my Rebecca? Where is she?
Give her to me! I will have her again, my own Rebecca! Give her back to
me, directly, on the spot!"

He seized him with both his arms, his hands clutching his shoulders like
claws. "Where is Rebecca--my Rebecca?"

Gabriel Nietzel stared at the count with frenzied fury, with devouring
grief. Schwarzenberg cast down his eyes, a shudder passed over his frame,
and terror-stricken he turned his head. It seemed to him as if, while
Gabriel pressed upon his shoulders in front, some one came stealthily up
to him from behind. He heard a cry--a death cry! The Fury was there again!
He could not escape her now!

"Let me go, Gabriel Nietzel," he said feebly. "Quit your hold, go away. I
will give you treasures, honors, distinctions, if you only quit your hold
and go away!"

"What will you give me, if I let you go?" screamed Gabriel Nietzel,
tightening his grasp and shaking him violently. "What will you give me?"

"I will give you a fine house, I will give you thousands, I will give you
rank and titles. Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you!"

"Give me Rebecca! I want _her_ and her alone! Tell me where she is or I
will kill you!"

"She is in my house at Spandow," said the count hastily. "Come, we will go
away. You shall have your Rebecca again. Come, let us go! Rebecca is
longing for you! Come!"

"You are deceiving me!" laughed Gabriel Nietzel. "I see it in your eyes,
you are deceiving me. You want me to open the doors, and then you will
call your people. There is no truth in what you say. Rebecca is not at
Spandow; I know that, for I have been there. I stood many hours before the
windows of your palace and called upon her name. She would have heard if
she had been there; she would have come to me--she would have freed me
from all my sufferings. For, you must know, my Rebecca loved me! Because
she loved me, that she might expiate the crime which you had tempted me to
commit, that she might lift the weight of sin from my head, she went back
to Berlin and bade me go on with our child. I had solemnly sworn that to
her, and I kept my oath. I went on, following the route we had agreed upon
together. I waited for her at every resting place, and always waited in
vain. I came to Venice,