"Ha, ha, Carl!--welcome to our abode of pleasure; here, all is gaiety and happiness. What sorrow ever crosses this threshold?" and then, with a sudden revulsion, he stared me fixedly, and said in a low sepulchral voice, "She is dead--dead! But the time is passing--a few minutes more, and 'twill be too late. This, Carl, will explain all. Take this, and this--these papers must be your care--promise me to observe them to the letter; they were her--her last wishes, and you knew her. Oh, is this a dream? it is too, too horrible to be real. Ah!" said he, after a moment's pause; "I am ready!" and springing from me wildly, rushed through the door towards the inner apartments.
I started up and followed him--I knew not which way he took in the corridor; and as I stood uncertain, a loud report of fire-arms crashed on my ear. I flew to the sick chamber--servants stood gasping and trembling without, I tore open the door; there, lay the Count upon the floor, his head rent asunder by the bullets from the pistol his hand still grasped. He had endeavoured to reach the bed, and fell half upon a chair. In the bed lay the still warm corpse of the Countess, beautiful as in life. I looked from one to the other; my seared and stony heart, turned to apathy by the horrors I had witnessed, gave no relief to its feeling in tears, and I spoke not as I slowly left the room.
For two days I spoke not to any one. A dreamy unconsciousness seemed to wrap my faculties, and I felt not the time passing. On the third day I rallied sufficiently to open the papers the Count had entrusted to me. One contained an affectionate farewell to myself, from the Count, with a dying bequest; the other, was in a lady's hand--it bore the Countess's signature; and here I discovered with surprise and horror, that to the performance of the rash act, by which the Count had terminated his existence, he was bound by a solemn oath. I ready and re-read, to assure myself of the fact. It was true! Such was the terrible promise she extorted from the wretched lover, under the delusive hope of their meeting in another and happier life. Then followed the directions for the funeral, which were minute to a degree. The bodies of both, when coffined, were to be placed in a small temple in the garden, near the river; the key of which was to be sent to a Dominican monk, who lived in an obscure part of the city. By him were the coffins to be closed, which it was strictly enjoined should be done by him, alone and unaccompanied, the night before the burial.