"I am dying in any case," said the voice, "and I want to hear their music. They have come from far and wide to sing the death-music of my family. It is beautiful that they have come; I am the last von Cernogratz that will die in our old castle, and they have come to sing to me. Hark, how loud they are calling!"
The cry of the wolves rose on the still winter air and floated round the castle walls in long-drawn piercing wails; the old woman lay back on her couch with a look of long-delayed happiness on her face.
"Go away," she said to the Baroness; "I am not lonely any more. I am one of a great old family . . . "
"I think she is dying," said the Baroness when she had rejoined her guests; "I suppose we must send for a doctor. And that terrible howling! Not for much money would I have such death-music."
"That music is not to be bought for any amount of money," said Conrad.
"Hark! What is that other sound?" asked the Baron, as a noise of splitting and crashing was heard.
