Buddenbrock, seeing the effect he had produced, and that Consuelo was almost ready to faint, stopped. She, at that moment, almost regretted her devotion, and could not in her heart refrain from appealing to her unknown protectors. But as she looked with a haggard eye at Buddenbrock, she saw in his face the hesitating expression of falsehood, and began to grow calm. Her heart yet beat as if it would burst her breast, when a police officer presented himself at the gate, to exchange a few words with Buddenbrock. During this conversation, one of the grenadiers who had come on horseback with the carriage, came to the other door, and said, in a low tone, "Be calm, signorina, blood will be shed rather than that you should be injured." In her trouble, Consuelo did not distinguish the features of her unknown friend, who at once withdrew. The carriage proceeded at a gallop towards the fortress, and, in about an hour, Porporina was incarcerated in due form, or rather with the prevailing want of form, in the castle of Spandau.
This citadel, at that time considered impregnable, is situated in the bay formed by the confluence of the Havel and the Spree. The day had become dark and gloomy, and Consuelo having completed the sacrifice, experienced that apathetic exhaustion which follows energy and enthusiasm. She therefore suffered herself to be taken to the gloomy abode intended for her, without even looking around. She was exhausted; and though it was noon only, threw herself, dressed as she was, on the bed, and went fast asleep. In addition to the fatigue, she experienced, was added that kind of delicious security, the fruits of which a good conscience always receives. Though the bed was hard, she slept profoundly as possible.
She had been for some time in a kind of half-slumber, when she heard midnight struck by the castle clock. The impression of sound is so keen to musical ears that she was awakened at once. When she left her bed, she understood that she was in prison, and she was forced to pass the whole night in thought, as she had slept all day. She was surprised at not suffering with cold, and was especially pleased at not feeling that physical inconvenience which paralyses thought. The wind bellowed outside in the most mournful manner, the rain beat on the window, and Consuelo could see through the narrow window nothing but the iron grating painted on the dark ground of a starless sky.