The husband and wife seated themselves on the couch--the
marquess with his sword and pistols beside him; and while they
endeavoured, the best way they could, to amuse themselves with
conversation, the dog, cowering down on the floor at their feet, fell
asleep. Again, with the stroke of midnight, the noise was
renewed;--something, though what they could not discover, raised itself us
if with crutches in the corner; the straw rustled as before. At
the sound of the first foot-fall, the dog awoke, roused itself, pricked up
its ears, and growling and barking as if some person were advancing
towards him, retreated in the direction of the chimney. At this sight, the
marchioness rushed out of the room, her hair standing on end; and while
the marquess seized his sword, exclaimed "Who is there?" and receiving no
answer, thrust like a madman in all directions, she hastily packed up a
few articles of dress, and made the best of her way towards the town.
Scarcely, however, had she proceeded a few steps, when she discovered that
the castle was on fire. The marquess had, in his distraction, overturned
the tapers, and the room was instantly in flames. Every effort was made to
save the unhappy nobleman, but in vain: he perished in the utmost
tortures, and his bones, as the traveller may be aware, still lie where
they were collected by the neighbouring peasants--in the corner of the
apartment from which he had expelled the beggar woman of
Locarno.
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