CHAP. X.
On their return to the Baron's house, they found him under a good deal of surprise at their long absence; for so much had their minds been occupied, that they had entirely forgotten the necessary compliment of accounting to the Baron. They apologized for their neglect, by a relation of the cause, and described Louisa as a much injured deserving young woman.
Young Reiberg appeared greatly interested; there was a novelty in the case, which, added to his natural humanity, roused him from the apathy that generally predominated over his conduct, and induced him to be particularly anxious in his inquiries, and offers of assisting them to discover, and punish, if possible, the offenders.
Ferdinand was pleased with the warmth he expressed, but not conceiving himself at liberty to disclose the story of Louisa, he only observed, that until she was in a state to elucidate facts, and give them full information, no steps could be taken to do her justice.—"I have my suspicions," added he, "as to the person, but do not think it fair to communicate them, lest I should be wrong."
Reiberg seemed pleased with the discretion of Ferdinand, and attached himself to him with an appearance of regard, very flattering to the other, and highly pleasing to the Baron, who presaged the happiest consequences to the peace of his son, should he conceive a friendly regard for Ferdinand, and unlock his bosom to the sympathizing attentions, and disinterested advice of a friend.
Early the following morning, they sent to inquire into the state of Louisa's health, and had the satisfaction to hear she had rested tolerably, was better, and would be happy to see her preservers in the course of the day. This pleasing account diffused general content to the gentlemen, and gave promise that their curiosity might be gratified.
Mean time, Ferdinand felt a good deal of vexation at Fatima's conduct. His reverence to the memory of his father would have led him any lengths to have preserved his child from infamy; but it was too evident that her heart was debased by the way of life she had chosen for herself, and that the loose principles of the parent had descended to the children. Again he sighed at the truth painful experience had taught him, "that the principles and character of parents is an essential consideration, when about to form a union with a young person for life; since example, as well as precept, must influence the disposition and actions of young and ductile minds, and lay the foundation for progressive virtue or vice."
At a proper hour, the two gentlemen repaired to the house of Dr. Renau, and were introduced to Louisa.—She was seated in an arm chair, and accompanied by Madam Blomfielde, the physician's aunt, who rose at their entrance, and after a few compliments, left the room. They congratulated the invalid on her appearance, so much for the better.
"I am indeed," said she, "under infinite obligations to you, gentlemen, and to the good Doctor; and feeling myself in safety from the power and machinations of the most profligate of men, has restored a comparative peace to my mind, which has its influence on my general state of health. Permit me also to felicitate myself and you, on your preservation from death, an event so unquestionably believed by all your friends, that seeing you, Sir (addressing Ferdinand) follow the Turk into the room, occasioned the faintings I was seized with, the weakened state of my head at that moment leading me to suppose it was your spirit emerged from the grave. Forgive me, therefore, if I am desirous of knowing why the report of your death was circulated, and why you have concealed yourselves from your friends."
Ferdinand, without entering into a particular detail, briefly mentioned their captivity, and recent return into Germany; adding, that they had sent off letters to all those whom they supposed might be interested in their fate, and hourly expected letters.———"You may be certain," said he, "we did not omit writing to Mr. D'Alenberg."
"Ah!" cried Louisa, "had those letters reached him before we quitted Suabia, 'tis more than probable we should not have undertaken this journey, and my dear friends would have been spared much sorrow and anxiety. If you will allow for the pauses my weakness may occasion, I will give you a short account of the events which have thus, fortunately for me, procured us a meeting.
"For some time after your departure, my friend Theresa exerted herself to heal the wounds of my mind, and administer to the recovery of my health. I was grateful for her kindness, though it had not its deserved success. Unhappily she caught the contagion of melancholy, and from a disposition of the most enchanting vivacity, changed to a despondency, a kind of habitual gloom in every word and action, that alarmed us inexpressibly. The distress and despair of Mr. D'Alenberg cannot be expressed. She resisted every persuasion, even prayers and tears, to draw from her the cause of such an alarming change, always protesting she could not account for it; that she had no disquietudes, nor any thing that afflicted her mind, but that she had taken an inclination for a monastic life. This inclination her worthy father opposed, and besought her, in the most moving terms, not to desert him, and render his future days wretched.
With some difficulty she was brought to relinquish her design, and promised she would struggle against the malady that oppressed her.
"I reproached myself incessantly as the cause of her disorder; I would have left the house which I had infected with melancholy, but she protested violently against my design, and I was compelled to submit. Mr. D'Alenberg could assign no other probable idea for her distress of mind, than that she had deceived herself, and was actually warmly attached to the unworthy Count Wolfran."
"Impossible," exclaimed Ferdinand, warmly.—"A mind pure and exalted as her's, could not, for a moment, entertain a preference for such a wretch."
"The event," resumed Louisa, "justifies your assertion. As I felt conscious that her unhappiness, from whatever cause it proceeded, must originate from me, I tried to assume a new character, to stifle my own feelings, and to cover a breaking heart under the mask of cheerfulness. Every effort of mine was exerted to amuse her. We went to Stutgard, compelled her to go into company, to mix sometimes in the entertainments of the city. She refused no request of her father's, but no change appeared in her disposition.
"One day Mr. D'Alenberg received a letter from his friend, who had introduced Count Wolfran to his notice. He lamented that he had not the power to punish a villain who had so basely deceived him, but that, after the most minute inquiries, he had reason to believe the Count had left the kingdom, to avoid the disgrace and shame attendant on a conviction of such vile actions as he had been guilty of.
This letter the good gentleman read to his daughter in my presence, both of us carefully watching its effects on her. No change appeared in her countenance.—"Poor wretch," said she, "what a mind must he possess, conscious of his base duplicity!"
"How, my dear!" exclaimed Mr. D'Alenberg, "do you pity him?"
"I do, Sir," answered she.—"When we can despise the man, and know he has failed in his pursuits, that he has had no power to injure us, and must be covered with confusion and guilt, charity may induce us to pity one so completely mean and detestable."
Those words, delivered without any emotion either in her person or voice, convinced us that Count Wolfran had no share in the disorder of her mind. A thousand different conjectures we then hazarded to each other, but in three days after, the whole was elucidated at once. Mr. d'Allenberg received some intelligence that grieved him, and too hastily communicated it to his daughter:—Its effects were instantaneous; she fell into violent and repeated fits, that ended in a delirium, and discovered the secret so tenaciously observed, so strictly guarded, that I was equally surprised with her father.
"Ah!" said Ferdinand, "may we presume to ask———?"
"Pardon me for interrupting you," returned Louisa; "I would not hear a question that should make me doubt of your delicacy or prudence; all that I can, in honour confide, you, gentlemen, have an undoubted claim to be informed of; but a secret retained with so much perseverance by my friend, can never be at my discretion to reveal."
"Amiable Louisa," exclaimed Ferdinand, "I stand corrected, and take shame to myself, but do justice to the purity of my motives."
"I do," replied she; "I know they were friendly ones, and I saw the same question trembling on the lips of the Count."
"I own it," said he; "and you must allow it was a natural question, if not a discreet one, and the impulse of the moment; but, pardon our impatience and interruption."
"This secret discovered," resumed she, "gave the severest affliction to Mr. D'Alenberg.—He had not the power to relieve her distress, or procure happiness to his child.—There were certain circumstances that impeded every hope of restoring her to a cheerful turn of mind, and his despair on the conviction was little less terrifying than the dreadful state in which my charming friend continued for six days.
"At the expiration of that period, Heaven heard the prayers of this worthy father, and restored her to reason. It was near a fortnight before she could leave her bed; and then how affecting was the figure she presented! A delicate skin thrown over a skeleton, a look of dignified sorrow, that wounded every eye, and a struggle for that composure so necessary to her father's peace, which now seemed the only object she had in view. So shadowy was her frame, that we almost feared to breathe, lest it should dissolve into air; and when she spoke, so faint, so sweet was her voice, that it penetrated to the very soul.
"Judge what a father must feel; for I see you are affected. Not to dwell, therefore, on a situation so painful, the fortitude she sought to acquire, and her consideration for her father, which still rendered life valuable to a duteous mind like her's, uniting with youth and a good constitution, restored her to comparative health.—The physicians advised travelling, that change of air, and a variety of objects, might dispel that gloom which seemed to impede her natural cheerfulness, and undermine her strength.
"In compliance with this advice, for near two months past we have lived a desultory kind of life, without any fixed plan, but moving from place to place, as fancy or inclination directed. By this management, we have succeeded in amusing Miss D'Alenberg; and though that playful gaiety, and animating vivacity she once possessed, appears to be entirely lost, yet there is a soft complacency, an earnest desire to look contented in every word and action, that highly gratifies her father, and inspires hope, that time and effort may restore her tranquillity.
"About ten days ago, we arrived at Ens, in which city lived a relation of Mr. D'Alenberg, who received us with great kindness. The next evening I accompanied my friend in a walk by the side of the river, not far from our residence. We strolled sometime on the banks; the evening was delightful.—Several boats were passing; the moon was rising in majestic splendor; its beams playing on the smooth surface, and conveying unspeakable tranquillity to the mind. We stood for some time in fixed admiration of the scene, forgetful of the hour, 'till a servant came to remind us of the time we had been absent.
"We were so enchanted with our evening's walk, that we resolved to repeat it the following night, and declined having a servant to attend us, because we apprehended no danger, and wished to be unobserved.
"Unfortunately we were indulged in our request, and we extended our walk, thoughtless of the distance, until no more boats passing, we recollected that it grew late; we turned to quicken our pace home, when suddenly a boat drew towards the shore, and three ordinary looking men jumped out and followed us. Fear lent us wings, though we knew not that they meant any ill. Miss D'Alenberg was more nimble than myself; hastening, and I fell. Two men instantly seized me; I screamed.
"Stop her mouth," cried one of them, "and bear her off; the other has got the start of us."
"I heard no more, but found myself carried to a boat, which rowed off with great swiftness. A large cloak was thrown over me, and between terror and affright, I was scarcely in my senses.
"How long we continued on the water, I know not; I was carried out still wrapped up, and incapable of making any resistance. At length I was uncovered; some bread and wine was given to me, which I refused. I saw only strange faces, and demanded to know why I was thus dragged from my friends?
"No answer was given; and in a short time after, a handkerchief was tied across my mouth. I was again tight wrapped in a cloak, and put into a carriage.—When in the high road, I was uncovered—and high time it was, for I was nearly suffocated, and had suffered great agony. We came within sight of a town; I was then obliged to undergo the same misery again, until we had stopped, changed post horses, and were once more on the road.
Not to tire you with more particulars, in this manner we proceeded, without stopping to sleep on the road, and only taking some bread and wine from the post-houses. At length we entered a wood: No longer able to preserve silence, I cried out, "Ah! my God, what is now to become of me!"
Being so frequently muffled up, and having only once taken any refreshment, both my spirits and strength were exhausted, which, with the terror I felt on entering a thick wood at the close of day, entirely overcame me, and I fainted. How long I continued in this situation, I know not; but on my recovery, I found myself in a very decent apartment, with two men and an elderly woman.
The former perceiving that my senses were returned, ordered the woman to retire; she obeyed, and after a short whisper, one of the men followed her.
The other having shut the door, advanced close to me, and, to my infinite astonishment, taking off a false covering of hair, and removing a pair of black eye-brows, discovered to me the features of Count Wolfran. I shrieked with the wildest affright.
"Once more," said he, "I have you in my power.—You, who have destroyed my happiest prospects, and blasted all my hopes; who have injured my character, and procured for yourself protectors at my expense. What have you to offer as an atonement for the mischief you have done; what reparation can you make for the ruin and disgrace you have brought upon me?"
I was speechless at this address: The effrontery, and the well-known villainy of the man, filled me with the most dreadful apprehensions, and impeded any attempt at articulation; he saw, and enjoyed my terror.
"I see," said the wretch, "conscious guilt ties your tongue: Know then, that I have taken my measures too securely for you to entertain any hope of an escape from my power. I have two proposals to make, one of which you must choose—Death or marriage. I should suppose the alternative will not be difficult to decide on.
"Indignation restored my speech.—"Marriage," I exclaimed.—'You well know that I am your wife."
"Aye," said he, "there is the point on which we differ: That is the assertion which I deny.—You were once indeed a kind obliging girl, and chose to patch up your reputation at the expense of mine. But to have done with this foolery,' said he with a stern look, observing my agitation, 'know, that you are either to marry my servant, your old acquaintance, or this house is your grave.
"Understand me—I do not want your murder to hang upon my spirits, but I am determined to secure you from doing me further mischief. My valet shall marry you, and in justice to him, I shall indulge him with a few days to amuse his pretty wife;—after which, by his authority, you will be placed in a situation that will effectually secure me from any more discoveries of your's.
"I now leave you.—To-morrow, at an early hour, we shall conclude the business."
He then opened the door, and retired.—I heard it locked and bolted on the other side.
For some moments, I remained fixed in astonishment and terror. I knew him too well to doubt of his resolution, and I saw no means of escaping from his power.—Furious and malignant, he was capable of the most atrocious actions, and I had every evil to apprehend.
The alternative of death would have been my preferable choice, but that was only thrown out to alarm me.—Murder was not his choice.—For some hours I sat almost stupefied with horror: I found, that during the deprivation of my senses, my pockets had been emptied of their contents. I looked round the apartment; it was a decent room, but without a bed; a sofa, a few chairs, and a table, composed all the furniture.
One window very high from the ground, with a chintz window curtain: No light was left with me, but fortunately the moon shone sufficiently through the window for me to discriminate every object.
Rousing at length from the stupor of terror, I placed a chair on the table, and looked through the window; a large garden was under it, and beyond the wood. The distance from the ground was so great, that to reach it, appeared almost impossible; but what will not despair attempt, and ingenuity contrive.
With some difficulty I got off the window curtain, and with my teeth affected different breaks, by which means I tore it into six parts; but the fear of being heard, obliged me to be long and cautious in doing it.—At length I effected my design; I tied each part together in repeated strong knots; I opened the window softly, and letting it down, saw that it reached the ground.
There was a chance indeed that it might break, or that my hands might slip; yet as death was far preferable to the evils that impended over me, I was not terrified by the apparent danger. I fastened the end of the curtain to the iron across the window, and with a courage desperation only could inspire, ventured from it, holding firmly by the kind of rope I had made.
My weight carried me quick down to the first knot: Here my hands were stopped, and it was with the utmost hazard I freed them;—but, by the time I reached the second knot, they were too feeble to support me, and I fell from a great height, but most providentially on a bed of earth, fresh turned up;—and though stunned with the fall, I soon found I had broken no limbs, and in a short time got on my feet, and made towards a door that led into the wood. I had here another difficulty to encounter, to get over the wall, but it was not very high, and I accomplished it, though not without some injury to my person.
I was now in the wood, unacquainted with any path-way, and exposed to a thousand dangers; but all weighed light in comparison of those I had escaped from: I therefore pierced through the trees, and walked with all the swiftness my strength would permit, though often obliged to sit a few minutes and rest.
I believe I must have walked upwards of four hours, when I observed a path to the right, which I entered upon, and in a short time came to a descent, from whence I thought I could discern the top of a house.—The idea gave me spirits; I hastened down the declivity, and arrived at that house where most fortunately I met with you.
That it was the Count who came next morning, I have no doubt: Nor am I surprised that he should take the lady; but as doubtless she betrayed me, I am greatly astonished that he did not return, and force me from thence.
Thus, gentlemen, I have accounted to you for my appearance.—Heaven, doubtless, sent you for my preservation; but I feel most poignantly for the affliction I know my amiable friend and her benevolent father must suffer, from the incertitude of my fate."
Louisa having concluded her story, Ferdinand proposed setting off immediately for Ens, to relieve the inquietude of her friends. She gratefully thanked him, but said, she had many reasons to prefer sending a messenger, as it was not unlikely that Mr. d'Allenberg might have left Ens, and the journey prove fruitless; but if he would have the goodness to procure a courier, she would endeavour to write both to him and the gentleman they had visited, and by that means should certainly gain intelligence of their route, if they had quitted the city. This method was adopted, and a proper person soon obtained, who was dispatched with the letter.
Mean time, Ferdinand and the Count expressed a good deal of anxiety that they had no return to the letters they had written.—For five or six days past, they had daily expected them, and the disappointment grew very painful.
To divert their attention, they asked the young Count Reiberg to ride with them to the Turk's cottage, as they wished to know if he had gained any information relative to Fatima.
On arriving at the house, they were surprised to see all the window shutters fastened. The Count advanced to the door, and knocking with his whip, found the door was on a jar. They alighted, and repeated the knock; but no one appearing, and fancying they heard a noise something like the moan of a person in pain, they pushed open the door, and ventured in. There was no one below, but an appearance of disorder in the room, the closet open, and things scattered about, that gave them an idea some ruffians had broken in and plundered the house.
They had no fire arms with them, and therefore went cautiously up stairs.—The same disorder was apparent in the first room they entered; but on going through to an inner apartment, how greatly were they astonished and shocked, to behold a gentleman on the floor dead or dying, and Heli also on the floor, with very little appearance of life, though he feebly moved one of his hands, as they hastened towards him.
The blood was running from a wound in his neck; this they quickly staunched with their handkerchiefs, bound up the wound, and raised him upon the sofa; whilst the Count and Baron were attending to him.—Ferdinand had examined the gentleman, who seemed to be dangerously wounded, and scarcely alive. His wound was in the side, and, as they supposed, proceeded from a pistol; therefore, not knowing where the bullet might be lodged they could form no judgment of his danger; however, they stopped the blood, washed his face with cold water, and, by the help of drops, he soon began to show signs of life. He opened his eyes, and making a great effort to speak,
"Your help is in vain—I am dying."
"Do not despair, Sir," said Reiberg."—And pouring some drops into water, he got a little down his throat.—Again trying to speak, he said, "'Tis in vain!"—Not, however, discouraged, they raised him upon a sofa likewise, and Reiberg got upon his horse, and flew towards the city for a surgeon.
On his return with one in a very short space of time, he found they were both alive, Heli in a much better state than the other;—but he preserved a sullen silence; the gentleman was incapable of speaking. The surgeon having examined their wounds, pronounced Heli's not dangerous, but the other's very doubtful, as he could not then extract the ball. After he had dressed them, and given them some cordials to restore their spirits, the gentleman seemed to acquire some strength.
"I must die," said he to the surgeon; "I know I must; flatter me not."
"I fear indeed," answered he; "if you have friends, or any thing to do, no time should be lost."
"This then is the end," exclaimed the other feebly, and paused for a few moments; then turning to the gentlemen, "this is the conclusion of a life short as to years—but an eternity in vice and wickedness.
"I am Count Wolfran—Louisa Hautweitzer is my lawful wife—she must inherit. I die by the hand of a vile Turk, cut off when projecting the death of others. This is retribution.—Women—passion, vile principles, have destroyed me.—I have a house, servants, wretches in the ———."
Here his articulation failed; he struggled violently to speak, which occasioned his wounds to bleed afresh, and carried him off in a few moments.
Heli viewed this scene with a gloomy ferocity, but spoke not. Ferdinand and his friends were equally shocked and surprised.
"Unhappy man," cried the Count, 'this is indeed a terrible conclusion of an ill-spent life."
"Do you then know the gentleman?" asked the surgeon; "I understood he was a stranger."
"Personally so," returned Count M———, "his name, I know, has too often been disgraced by bad actions—but here they rest."
Turning to Heli—"Perhaps he can give some solution of this strange business.—My friend," said he to Ferdinand, "will you inquire."
The surgeon here interposed.—"I think, gentlemen, you had best defer 'till to-morrow any examination; the sudden and fatal effects which attend the agitation of the spirits, we have just seen; and if I can translate that man's looks, he is not likely to be very placid."
They subscribed to this opinion; and therefore Ferdinand addressed him in very soothing terms, to which the other made no reply.
The body was removed to another room, and the surgeon undertook to send a proper person to attend on Heli.
"But what," cried the Count, "is become of the women servants?"
This question was again asked of Heli.
"The devil has them," answered he, sulkily.
They then proceeded to search the house. No person was to be found; the trunks and closets were all open and stripped.
"The house is robbed," said Ferdinand to Heli.
"By your cursed sister," returned he in German.
The surgeon and Reiberg stared.—Ferdinand was extremely confused; but recovering himself—"If the woman you call my sister," answered he in the same language, "has robbed you, you can blame only yourself; I disclaim all knowledge or affinity to her."
Heli did not perfectly understand him, but again furiously and maliciously repeated, "your sister, the cursed Fatima."
Provoked and much hurt, he said to the surgeon, "I entreat of you, Sir, to inquire out for an interpreter for this man; he knows not what he means; let him have a proper person to explain what he says, that he may not be misunderstood."
The surgeon, whose curiosity was evidently much excited, promised instantly to comply with his request; upon which they left him there with one of Count Reiberg's servants, another having been sent away for the surgeon's assistant, on whose arrival he promised to set off and procure an interpreter.
The gentlemen, particularly Ferdinand, left the house under much perturbation. The latter bitterly lamented his folly, in making himself known to Fatima; for as he supposed her capable of any excesses, should the Turk promulgate the report of his consanguinity to her, it would reflect infinite disgrace on his name, and render him an object of curiosity to the inhabitants of the city.
Perplexed and uneasy, he returned to the Baron's, and saw no method to do away the prejudice with which Heli's story and malicious expressions might possibly fill young Reiberg's mind to his disadvantage, than by a brief recital of the adventure which had brought him to the knowledge of Fatima, to the truth of which his friend the Count could bear testimony.
He therefore seized the first opportunity, when the dinner was over, and the servants withdrawn, candidly to repeat every circumstance; and concluded with saying, that from Fatima's elopement, and the presence of Count Wolfran at Heli's, he had little doubt but that they had contrived some dark plot, in the execution of which the Count had fallen a victim; but by whom the house was robbed, or the preceding circumstances, could only be learnt from Heli, whose sullen taciturnity for the present afforded no lights to guide their search.
When Ferdinand had concluded the little narrative, which he thought requisite to do himself justice, he could not avoid remarking an uncommon spirit and animation in the appearance of Reiberg; his looks, his voice, his whole form, seemed to possess a new soul; involved in perplexity on his own affairs, 'till this moment the alteration had escaped his notice.
The other, observing that both the Count and Ferdinand looked at him with surprise, caught the hand of the latter—"My dear Sir, I can translate your thoughts; know then, the events of this morning nearly concern me; they hold out a dawn of hope, a possibility of happiness, which I thought for ever extinguished: Count Wolfran was my mortal enemy; he robbed me of the woman I adored; his relations were her guardians, they compelled her to give him her hand;—he is dead, and she is free.—Heaven is just—and I may hope."
The Count and Ferdinand were astonished at this development, and more so to find that he was unacquainted with the circumstances that had occasioned a separation between the Count and his lady.
"Where does the Countess reside?" asked Ferdinand.
"I believe in a convent," answered Reiberg.—"I have only once heard from her since her fatal marriage. She wrote to me, that, by mutual consent, she was separated from her husband, and intended to retire from the world; conjured me, as I valued her future happiness, if chance should ever throw me in the way of Count Wolfran, whatever reports might reach my ears, as probably many false stories might be promulgated, never to lift my hand against his, or embitter her days, by hazarding my own life: Entreated me to consider her as dead to the world, and to form another connexion, which she knew was most anxiously wished for by my friends."
The first part of her request I resolved strictly to observe: I sought not Count Wolfran—I desired not to meet him, since his death, by my hands, would have placed an insuperable bar to any hopes from Theodosia; but the passion she had inspired was interwoven with my existence, impossible to be eradicated, and being hopeless, produced an entire change in my disposition. I found myself insensibly growing morose, unsociable, and unpleasant to my friends; my temper seemed to be utterly ruined; but the events of this morning has occasioned an entire revolution in my feelings; the possibility of hope has restored me to myself.
A few words the Count uttered, as he was dying, surprises and confounds me.—He said, "Louisa:" The tumult of my spirits, at the moment, has lost the recollection of the other name; but he said, "Louisa is my wife—she must inherit."
What could be meant; had he two wives, or is my Theodosia dead? The idea chills me; for I know not the name of the convent she retired to.—'Till this doubt is removed, I cannot give myself up to joy, tho' my heart feels light, and presages happiness. The Count, I know, has an estate near Ulm, and I believe relations there: We must dispatch a courier to them, and then my destiny will be decided."
Count M——— and Ferdinand, having listened with much satisfaction to the volubility of Reiberg, who had spoken more words in a few moments than he had uttered in several days, felt infinite pleasure that they could do away some part of his apprehensions, by assuring him that Theodosia still existed, and even named to him the convent she resided at; but their confidence was limited; for her situation, in respect to the Count, being very delicate, they held themselves bound to conceal that part of her story, and even prevailed with the Baron to delay sending off a messenger until the next morning, under the pretence of gaining further information from Heli; but in reality they wanted to inform Louisa of this event, and consult with her the proper steps necessary to assert her rights.
By advice of the Count, Ferdinand set out to see her, whilst the former, with Reiberg, went to visit Heli.