She was on a journey into
Hungary, and claimed the hospitality of the castle on her way there. Both
were widows. Well, it was a quarter to twelve. The Electress dropped back
on her pillow, as she always did when she had finished the candle.
Isentrude covered her over, heaped up logs on the fire, wrapped her
dressing-gown about her, and prepared to sleep. It was Winter, and the
wind howled at the doors, and rattled the windows, and shook the
arras--Lord help us! Outside was all snow, and nothing but forest; as you
saw when you came to me there, Gretelchen. Twelve struck. Isentrude was
dozing; but she says that after the last stroke she woke with cold. A
foggy chill hung in the room. She looked at the Electress, who had not
moved. The fire burned feebly, and seemed weighed upon: Herr Je!--she
thought she heard a noise. No. Quite quiet! As heaven preserve her, says
slip, the smell in that room grew like an open grave, clammily putrid.
Holy Virgin! This time she was certain she heard a noise; but it seemed
on both sides of her.
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