Count Conrad was grieved at his mother’s anger, but he was too happy with Matilda to grieve long. He and she were soon married, and so sweet and gentle was her character that every day the count loved her better and was more contented with his choice.
When the count and Matilda had been married for a year, a child was born to them, a little boy so handsome and big and strong that the count was filled with joy and pride.
The nurse who had charge of the child was sent to the castle by the old countess, and both the count and Matilda were delighted at what they took to be a sign that his mother had forgiven them. This was not the case however. The old countess still hated Matilda with a bitter hatred, and had sent the nurse, hoping she might find some way to injure her, and if possible to separate her from the count.
Matilda always slept with the baby’s cradle close to her own bed. One night, when all the castle was wrapped in sleep, the old nurse slipped into the room, and lifting the child carefully from the cradle, she carried it away without waking anyone.
In the morning, as soon as Matilda awoke, her eyes as usual turned first of all to the cradle. She was greatly surprised to see that it was empty, and at once called the nurse and demanded what had become of the child.
The nurse pretended to be equally surprised. “I do not know,” she answered. “When I last saw him, he was asleep in the cradle beside your ladyship.”
Matilda was very much alarmed. The count was called, the castle searched thoroughly, and every one was questioned, but they could find no trace of the baby.
“It must be some evil spirit or enchantress who has carried him away,” said the nurse. “Last night I heard a beating of wings outside my window, and a strange sound of sighing and moaning, but I thought it was only some great bird that was lost in the night.”
This the nurse said not because she had really heard anything, but because this was part of a plot that she and the old countess had hatched between them.
Days passed, and still nothing was heard of the child. The count was in despair. Even Matilda herself was scarcely more dear to him than his infant son.
At the end of a year another child was born to Matilda, and this also was a son, a child as strong and handsome as the first.