The bolts on the outer door were already rattling.
"Come, Kolbielsky, be brave, proud, and strong.

Meet them with a joyous face; let no look betray that you are suffering! They are coming, they are coming! Farewell, sweet, radiant life! Farewell, Leonore! Love of my heart, farewell!" The inner door was opened--Kolbielsky advanced to meet his executioners with proud composure and a smiling face.

But what did this mean?
Neither executioner, priest, nor judge appeared, but a young man, wrapped in a cloak, with his head covered by a broad-brimmed hat that shaded his face.
Who was it?
Who could it be?
Kolbielsky stood staring at him, without the strength to ask a question.

The young man also leaned for a moment, utterly crushed and powerless, against the wall beside the door.

Then rousing himself by a violent effort, he bent toward the gray-bearded jailer who stood in the doorway with his huge bunch of keys in his hand, and whispered a few words.