It was in winter; a stony cold hand
caught me by the wrist. I looked up. Before me stood a tall woman; in one
hand she held a flaming torch, with the other she held me by the arm.
Her robe was sprinkled with snow. There was a convulsive movement in all
her limbs and her eyes were fired with a gloomy light through the long
locks of white hair which hung in disorder round her face. It was my
mother; and she said, 'Odile, my child, get up and dress! You must know
it all!' Then taking me to Hugh Lupus's tower she showed me the open
subterranean passage. 'Your father will come out that way,' she said,
pointing to the tower; 'he will come out with the she-wolf; don't be
frightened, he won't see you.' And presently my father, bearing his
funereal burden, came out with the old woman. My mother took me in her
arms and followed; she showed me the dismal scene on the Altenberg of
which you know. 'Look, my child,' she said; 'you must for I--am going to
die soon. You will have to keep that secret. You alone are to sit up
with your father,' she said impressively--'you alone. The honour of your
family depends upon you!' And so we returned.
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