Tales for Young and Old | Page 4

to her room.'
Karl obeyed his directions to a tittle, and when all was ready, he gave
the signal, and Mazzuolo, making a pretext, quitted the table. He found
the arrangements quite satisfactory, and having taken care to see that
the window was well closed, he returned to the supper-room. He was
no sooner gone than the boy took the charcoal from the stove and threw
it into the street; and when Adelaide came to undress, there was no fire.
Cold as it was, however, she had no alternative but to go to bed without
one, for there was not a bell in the apartment; and Mazzuolo, who had
lighted her to the door, had locked her in, under pretence of caring for
her safety. Karl, having watched this proceeding, accompanied him
back to the supper-table, where they discussed the plans for the
following day. Whether would it be better to start in the morning
without inquiring for her at all, and leave the people of the house to
find her dead, when they were far on the road, or whether make the
discovery themselves? Karl ventured to advocate the first plan; but
Tina decided for the second. It would be easy to say that the lad had put
charcoal in the stove, not being aware of its effects, and there would be
an end of the matter. If they left her behind, it would be avowing the
murder. This settled, they went to bed.
What to do, Karl did not know. He was naturally a stupid sort of lad,
and what little sense nature had given him, had been nearly beaten out
of him by harsh treatment. He had had a miserable life of it, and had
never found himself so comfortable as he was now with his aunt and
her husband. They were kind to him, because they wanted to make use
of him. He did not want to offend them, nor to leave them; for if he did,
he must return home again, which he dreaded above all things. Yet
there was something in him that recoiled against killing the lady.
Grossly ignorant as he was, scarcely knowing right from wrong, it was
not morality or religion that deterred him from the crime; he had a very
imperfect idea of the amount of the wickedness he would be

committing in taking away the life of a fellow-creature. Obedience was
the only virtue he had been taught; and what those in authority over
him had ordered him to do, he would have done without much question.
To kill his beauteous travelling companion, who had shown him such
kindness, was, however, repugnant to feelings he could not explain
even to himself. Yet he had not sufficient grasp of intellect to know
how he was to elude the performance of the task. The only thing he
could think of in the meanwhile was to take the charcoal out of the
stove; and he did it; after which he went to sleep, and left the results to
be developed by the morning.
He had been desired to rise early; and when he quitted his room, he
found Mazzuolo and his wife already stirring. They bade him go below
and send up breakfast, and to be careful that it was brought by the
people of the house. This was done; and when the waiter and the host
were present, Tina took the opportunity of knocking at Madame
Louison's door, and bidding her rise. To the great amazement of the
two Italians, she answered with alacrity that she was nearly dressed,
and should be with them immediately. They stared at each other; but
presently she opened the door, and appeared as fresh as ever; observing,
however, that she had been very cold, for that the fire had gone out
before she went to bed. This accounted for the whole thing, and Karl
escaped all blame.
During the ensuing day nothing remarkable occurred: fresh charcoal
was provided; but at night it was found there were no stoves in the
bed-chambers; and as the houses on the road they were travelling were
poor and ill-furnished, all the good inns having been dismantled by the
troops, the same thing happened at several successive stations.
This delay began to render the affair critical, for they were daily
drawing near Augsburg, where M. Louison was to meet his wife; and
Mazzuolo resolved to conclude the business by a coup de main. He had
learned from the postilion that the little post-house which was to form
their next night's lodging was admirably fitted for a deed of mischief. It
lay at the foot of a precipice, in a gorge of the mountains: the district
was lonely, and the people rude, not likely to be very much disturbed,
even if they