Sperver, Sebalt, and I stood nailed to the floor; we held our breath,
petrified with fear.
Suddenly the count stopped. As a wild beast scents the wind, he lifted
his head and listened again.
There, there, far away, down among the thick fir forests, whitened with
dense patches of snow, a cry was heard in reply--weak at first; then the
sound rose and swelled in a long protracted howl, drowning the feebler
efforts of the hounds: it was the she-wolf answering the wolf!
Sperver, turning round awe-stricken, his countenance pale as ashes,
pointed to the mountain, and murmured low--
"Listen--there's the witch!"
And the count still crouching motionless, but with his head now raised
in the attitude of attention, his neck outstretched, his eyes burning,
seemed to understand the meaning of that distant voice, lost amidst the
passes and peaks of the Schwartzwald, and a kind of fearful joy gleamed
in his savage features.
At this moment, Sperver, unable or unwilling to restrain himself any
longer, cried in a voice broken with emotion--
"Count of Nideck--what are you doing?"
The count fell back thunderstruck.
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