Amelia walked boldly towards the stairway, Consuelo followed her, and the princess would not suffer her to take the torch from her. Madame Von Kleist, who feared both to remain alone and to accompany them, hung behind, holding on to Porporina's cloak.
They no longer heard the devil's broom, and the princess reached the stairway, over which she reached her light, to enable her to distinguish the better what was going on below. Whether she was less calm than she wished to seem, or that she saw some terrible object, her hand trembled, and the torch of crimson and crystal fell down the echoing spiral. Madame Von Kleist at once forgot both the princess and the prima donna, and fled away until, in spite of the darkness, she came to her mistress's rooms, where she sought a refuge, while the latter, participating in this strange excitement, went in the same direction with Consuelo, slowly at first, but with a perpetually increasing pace; other steps were heard behind them, and the latter were not Consuelo's, for the opera-singer walked by her side, with not less resolution, though probably with less bravado. The strange steps which every moment drew near to them, sounded amid the darkness like those of an old woman with clogs, and rang on the pavement; while the broom continued to grate harshly on the wall, now to the right and then to the left. This ghost walk seemed very long to Consuelo. If anything can really overcome the courage of truly courageous and pure minds, it is a danger that can he neither comprehended nor understood. She did not boast of an useless audacity, and did not look back once. The princess said, once or twice in the darkness, she looked back, but in vain; no one could either prove or disprove the fact. Consuelo only knew that she had not slackened her pace, that she had not spoken a word to her on the way, and that when she went into her room, she came near shutting the door in her face, so anxious was she to protect herself. Amelia, however, would acknowledge no such weakness, and soon recovered sufficient presence of mind to laugh at Madame Von Kleist, who was almost in convulsions, and reproached her most timidly for her cowardice. The good nature of Consuelo, who sympathised with the patient's distress, induced the princess to become more good-natured. She deigned to observe that Madame Von Kleist was incapable of understanding her, and that she lay on a sofa with her face buried in the pillows. The clock struck three before the poor lady had completely resumed her presence of mind, and even then she displayed her terror by tears. Amelia was weary of her game of "not a princess," and did not seem anxious to undress herself without aid. It may be, too, she was under the influence of some presentiment. She resolved then to keep the baroness with her until day.