"This Hochberg is really worth seeing," said Frau von Eschenhagen, her eyes roaming over the country. "We have almost the same view here as upon the top of the tower. Why climb and overheat oneself and lose one's breath on those never-ending steps?"

"Adelaide was of a different opinion," replied Wallmoden, with a casual glance at the tower. "She does not know fatigue nor how to get overheated."

"And also how not to catch cold. She proved that the day before yesterday, when she came home drenched through. She did not catch the least cold."

"Nevertheless, I have requested her to take an escort for her future walks," said the Amba.s.sador, calmly. "To get lost in the forest, wade a creek, and be guided to the right path by the first hunter one comes across are things which must not occur again. Adelaide agreed with me and promised immediately to obey my wishes."

"Yes, she is a sensible woman, a thoroughly healthy nature from which anything romantic or adventurous is far removed," complimented Regine.

"But there seem to be more visitors upon the tower. I thought we should be the only guests to-day."

Wallmoden looked indifferently at the tall, slender gentleman who now emerged from the small tower door and walked toward the inn. Frau von Eschenhagen also looked at him carelessly; but suddenly her glance grew keener, and she started.

"Herbert--look!"

"Where?"

"That stranger there. What a strange resemblance!"

"To whom?" asked Herbert, growing more attentive and looking sharply at the stranger.

"To--impossible! That is not only a resemblance. It is he himself."

She sprang up, pale with excitement, and her look fastened itself upon the features of the man just now putting his foot upon the first step of the veranda. She met his eyes, those dark, glowing eyes, which had so often shone upon her from the face of the boy, and the last doubt disappeared.

"Hartmut--Hartmut Falkenried--you----"

She was suddenly silenced by Wallmoden's laying his hand heavily upon her arm and saying slowly, but with emphasis: "You are mistaken, Regine. We do not know this gentleman."

Hartmut stopped short when he caught sight of Frau von Eschenhagen, who had been hidden by the foliage. He was not prepared for her presence.

At the moment he recognized her the words of the Amba.s.sador reached his ear. He knew that icy tone only too well; it forced the blood to his brow.

"Herbert!" Regine looked doubtingly at her brother, who still held her by the arm.

"We do not know him," he repeated in the same tone.

"Is it possible that I have to tell you that, Regine?"

She understood now his meaning. With a half threatening, half painful glance, she turned her back upon the son of her friend and said, with deep bitterness:

"You are right. I was mistaken."

Hartmut started, and in rising anger he drew a step nearer.

"Herr von Wallmoden!"

"Did you speak to me?" The tone was as stinging and scornful as before.

"You have antic.i.p.ated my wishes, Your Excellency," said Hartmut, forcing himself to be calm. "I wished to ask you not to recognize me.

We are strangers to each other."

He turned and walked off defiantly, tall and erect, and entered the house by another door.

Wallmoden looked after him with darkened brow. Then he turned to his sister.

"Could you not control yourself better, Regine? Why have a scene at such a meeting? This Hartmut does not exist any longer for us."

Regine's face betrayed only too well how much this encounter had shocked her. Her lips still quivered as she replied:

"I am no practiced diplomat like you, Herbert. I have not learned to be still when one whom I thought dead or ruined suddenly appears before me."

"Dead? that was hardly to be expected at his age. Ruined, corrupted?

that might be nearer it. His life up to the present moment has lain in that direction."

"Do you know about it?" Frau von Eschenhagen started with surprise. "Do you know of his life?"

"Partly. Falkenried was too much my friend for me not to investigate what became of his son. Of course, I was silent to him as well as you concerning it; but as soon as I had returned to my office that time, I used our diplomatic relations, which reach everywhere, to inquire about it."

"Well, what did you learn?"

"Princ.i.p.ally only that which was to be expected. Zalika had turned her steps directly homeward with her son. You know that her stepfather--our cousin Wallmoden--was already dead when she returned to her mother after the divorce. The connections on our side were thereby broken off, but I learned that shortly before Zalika's reappearance in Germany she had come into the possession of the Rojanow estates."

"Zalika? Did she not have a brother?"

"Yes, he had charge of the estates for ten years, but died, unmarried, from an accident while hunting, and, since his mother's second marriage had resulted in no descendant, Zalika entered now upon the inheritance--at least in name--for through the reckless management of the Bojar, the most of it belonged to the Jews. Nevertheless, she now felt herself master, and planned the _coup_ of getting possession of her son. The old, wild life was then continued upon the estates for a few years, with senseless management, until everything was gone. Then mother and son, like a couple of gypsies, went out into the wide world."

Wallmoden narrated this with the same cold contempt which he had shown to Hartmut, and the same horror and aversion were pictured in the face of his sister--that strictly duteous and moral lady. Nevertheless, a certain degree of sympathy was in her voice as she asked: "And you have not heard anything of them since?"

"Yes, several times. A casual mention of the name led me to the track.

While I was at the emba.s.sy at Florence, they were in Rome; a few years later they appeared in Paris, and there I heard of the death of Frau Zalika Rojanow."

"So she is dead," said Frau von Eschenhagen, in a low voice. "What do you think they have lived on all these years?"

Wallmoden shrugged his shoulders.

"What do all adventurers who wander homeless over the world live on?

They may perhaps have saved something from the wreck, perhaps not. At any rate, they visited all the salons in Paris and Rome. A woman like Zalika finds help and protection everywhere. She had the t.i.tle of n.o.bility as daughter of a Bojar, and the forced sale of the Roumania property was probably not known, so it played a prominent part in their success. Society opens its doors only too quickly to this element if it knows how to keep up appearances, which seems to have been the case here. By what means, that, of course, is another question."

"But Hartmut, whom she forcibly carried into such a life--what of him?"

"An adventurer--what else?" said the Amba.s.sador, with intense harshness. "He always had an inclination that way; he will have developed finely in such a school. I have not heard anything of him since the death of his mother, three years ago."

"And you kept it a secret from me?" said Regine, reproachfully.

"I wished to spare you. You had taken this scoundrel--this Hartmut--too much into your heart. I was afraid you might be carried away in a hint to Falkenried."

"You took unnecessary pains. I have ventured but once to speak of the past to Falkenried. He looked at me--I shall never forget that look--and said, with an awful expression: 'My son is dead--you know that, Regine. Let the dead rest!' I shall certainly not mention that name to him again."

"Then I do not need to caution you when you return home," replied Wallmoden. "But you ought not to speak of it to Willibald, either. His good nature might play him a trick when he learns that his once great friend lives in the neighborhood. It is best for him to hear nothing of it. I shall certainly ignore this _gentleman_ at a possible second meeting, and Adelaide does not know him at all. She does not even know that Falkenried had a son."