His greeting was cool but polite, only he turned to the Prince alone with his answer, regretting not being able to chat with the gentlemen, since he was called to the Duke.

The whole meeting had lasted but two minutes, but it had taken place.

"His Excellency is more taciturn to-day than usual," remarked Egon, walking on. "Whenever I see this cold, diplomatic face before me I have a chill, and feel a pressing desire to seek warmer zones."

"Therefore we follow so persistently the track of the beautiful, cold aurora," said Hartmut, teasingly. "Whom do we really seek in this walk through the rooms which you continue so untiringly?"

"The Chief Forester," said the Prince, vexed at seeing himself betrayed. "I wish to make you acquainted with him, but you are in one of your railing moods to-day. Perhaps I may find Schonan over yonder in the armory. I shall look there."

He took a speedy departure, and actually turned his steps to the armory, where the ducal couple was at present, and where he also believed Adelaide von Wallmoden to be. But, unfortunately, at the entrance he again crossed the path of his most gracious aunt, who took possession of him. She wished for more particulars of the interesting young Roumanian who stood, indeed, in the sunlight of her favor, and her impatient nephew had to answer all her questions willingly or otherwise.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The fete progressed; the a.s.sembly glided to and fro as Hartmut walked slowly and apparently purposelessly through the long suite of reception rooms. He, too, looked for some one, and was more successful than Egon.

A hasty glance into the tower room, the entrance of which was partly concealed by heavy portieres, showed him the hem of a white train which floated over the floor, and the next moment he had crossed the threshold.

Adelaide von Wallmoden was still sitting in the same position, and slowly turned her head toward the intruder. Suddenly she started, but only for an instant, then with her habitual composure she returned the deep bow of the young man who remained standing at the door.

"I hope I have not disturbed Your Excellency," he said. "I fear you came here for solitude into which I have broken suddenly, but it happens quite unintentionally."

"I only took refuge here from the smothering heat of the salons."

"The same cause brought me here, and since I did not have the honor to-day to greet you, permit me to do so now."

The words sounded very formal. Rojanow had drawn nearer, but remained standing at a respectable distance. Nevertheless, the start at his entrance had not been pa.s.sed by un.o.bserved by him. A peculiar smile hovered around his lips as he directed his eyes upon the young Baroness.

She had made a gesture as if to rise and leave the room, but seemed to remember in time that so sudden a move would look like flight. She remained seated and leaned over the plants. Absently she picked one of the large crimson j.a.ponicas as she replied to the question about her health, but that line of severe will-power appeared again, sharply and distinctly, just as in that moment when she stood in the middle of the brook. That day she had stepped without hesitation into ankle-deep water rather than accept the help which was offered her; but that had occurred in the forest loneliness. No such obstacle had to be overcome here in the ducal castle, filled with the pomp of a fete; but the man with the dark, consuming glance was here, and he did not remove his eyes from her face.

"Shall you remain at Rodeck any length of time?" asked Adelaide in the indifferent tone with which remarks are exchanged in society.

"Probably a few weeks longer. Prince Adelsberg will hardly leave his castle as long as the Duke is at Furstenstein. I intend to accompany him to the Residenz later on."

"And we shall then learn to know you as a poet?"

"Me, Your Excellency?"

"I learned so from the Prince."

"Oh, that is only Egon's idea," said Hartmut, lightly. "He has settled it in his mind that he must see my Arivana upon the stage."

"Arivana! A strange t.i.tle."

"It is an Oriental name for an Indian legend, whose poetical charm had prepossessed me so strangely that I could not resist the temptation to form it into a drama."

"And the heroine of the drama is Arivana?"

"No; that is only the name of an ancient, sacred spot, around which this legend clings. The name of the heroine is--Ada."

Rojanow uttered the name softly, hesitatingly; but his eyes flamed up triumphantly, as he saw again the same slight quiver he had seen at his entrance. Slowly he approached a few steps, continuing: "I heard the name for the first time upon India's soil, and it had a sweet foreign sound for me, which I retained for my heroine, and now I learn here that the abbreviation of a German name is just like it."

"Of the name Adelaide--yes. I was always called so at home; but it is nothing peculiar that the same sounds return in different languages."

The words sounded repellent, but the young wife did not lift her eyes; she gazed fixedly upon the flower with which her fingers toyed.

"Certainly not," a.s.sented Hartmut; "I only noticed it. It was no surprise, since all legends are repeated in all nations. They have a greater or less difference in appearance, but that which lives in them--the pa.s.sion, the happiness and joy of the people--that is the same everywhere."

Adelaide shrugged her shoulders.

"I cannot argue about that with a poet, but I do believe that our German legends possess other features than the Indian dreams of myths."

"Perhaps so, but if you look deeper you will find these features familiar. This Arivana myth, at least, has similar lines. The hero, a young priest who has consecrated body and soul to his deity--the sacred, burning fire--is overwhelmed by earthly love, with all its fervor and pa.s.sion, until his priestly vow perishes in its intensity."

He stood quietly and respectfully before her, but his voice had a strangely suppressed sound, as if, hidden behind this narrative, there was another and secret meaning.

Suddenly the Baroness raised her eyes and directed them fully and seriously upon the face of the speaker. "And--the end?"

"The end is death, as in most mystic legends. The breaking of the vow is discovered, and the guilty ones are sacrificed to the offended deity; the priest dies in the flames with the woman he loves."

A short pause followed. Adelaide arose with a rapid movement. She apparently wished to break off the conversation.

"You are right; this legend has something familiar, if it were only the old doctrine of guilt and atonement."

"Do you call that guilt, gracious lady?" Hartmut suddenly dropped the formal t.i.tle. "Well, yes, by man it is called guilt, and they too punish it with death, without thinking that such punishment can be ecstasy. To perish in the flames after having tasted of the highest earthly happiness, and to embrace this happiness even in death--that is a glorious, divine death, worthy a long life of dull monotony. The eternal, undying right of love glows there like signs of flame in the sky, in spite of all laws of mankind. Do you not think such an end enviable?"

A slight paleness covered the face of the Baroness, but her voice was firm as she answered:

"No; enviable only is death for an exalted, holy duty--the sacrifice of a pure life. One can forgive sin, but one does not admire it."

Hartmut bit his lips, and a threatening glance rested on the white figure which stood so solemn and unapproachable before him. Then he smiled.

"A hard judgment, which strikes my work also, for I have put my whole power into the glorification of this love and death. If the world judge like you---- Ah, permit me, gracious lady."

He quickly approached the divan where she had been sitting, where, with her fan, the j.a.ponica also had been left.

"Thank you," said Adelaide, stretching out her hand; but he gave her only the fan.

"Your pardon. While I was composing my Arivana on the veranda of a small house in India, this flower bloomed and glowed from its dark green foliage everywhere, and now it greets me here in the cold North.

May I keep this flower?"

Adelaide made a half reluctant gesture.

"No, why should you?"

"Why should I? For a remembrance of the severe opinion from the lips of a lady who bears the lovely name of my mystic heroine. You see, gracious lady, that the white j.a.ponica blooms here also, delicate, snowy flower; but unconsciously you broke the glowing red one, and poets are superst.i.tious. Leave me the flower as a token that my work, in spite of all, may find favor in your eyes after you learn to know it. You have no idea how much it means to me."