4. A Story of Brigands

“She tapped on the Avails again and again. Her fingers found neither doors nor windows. The four walls were smooth everywhere. Discouraged, she was about to return, when, suddenly, at the right of the door, her hand struck against a little table, upon which she found a lantern and everything necessary for a light. You may very well believe that she lighted it quickly, but her lantern did not show her any other way out of the room. Nevertheless, she persisted, saying: ‘This room is not the end; it must lead somewhere, it doubtless conceals some secret passage. I will not leave until I find it.’”

“She was obstinate,” said the Envoy.

“Oh, no! But how could she help it? Something was impelling her; she was determined to go on. She said indeed to herself: ‘My husband may return, and if he does, who knows if he may not blame me for my curiosity?’ However, she continued her search just the same.”

“Hurrah for woman’s perseverance!” said the Envoy, who had listened to Maroussia’s story with much interest.

“She moved about in the room, and at last her foot struck a ring of iron.

“She brought the lantern; there was a trap-door in the floor.

“It seemed to her that in all her life she had never been so pleased.

“The trap-door was very heavy for her; but, when we desire anything very much, our efforts generally end in success. She almost broke her fingers, but, at last, she lifted up the door.

“Then she perceived a narrow stairway leading down into a great black hole. She had begun, she could not stop now. ‘Although this looks terrible, yet I will go down,’ she said. And she did descend the stairs.”

“She was brave,” said the Envoy.

“She expected surely to see something frightful, but what she saw was more horrible than anything she could have imagined.”

“Ah! Dear me!” exclaimed the Envoy. “The cave was filled with axes, sabers, daggers, pikes, lances, large knives and clubs; with rich clothing, elegant garments covered with blood; with collars of pearls, sets of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, turquoises, and sapphires. All these things were heaped pell-mell on the floor, and everywhere traces of blood could be seen. However, she still doubted, when her attention was drawn by something white as snow which stood out in relief on a piece of black velvet. I scarcely dare to say it, but it was a white hand, white as a marble hand, cut off from the arm, a woman’s shapely hand covered with valuable rings.

“‘No means of doubting any longer,’ she said to herself trembling. ‘My husband is a chief of brigands. Our château is worse than a cavern.’ And that caused her great grief.”