The little mountain of Hochberg rose about half way between Fürstenstein
and Rodeck. It was celebrated, and justly, for the fine and extensive
view which could be obtained from its highest point. An ancient stone
tower, all that now remained of a castle long since fallen into decay,
stood upon the extreme summit.
A few peasants, more zealous than their neighbors, had built a little
inn or house of rest and refreshment at its base. They made a pretense
of keeping the mountain roads in order, and demanded a fair toll from
the stray tourist who came to climb the winding tower stairs.
Strangers came but seldom, however, into this wild, unknown mountain
region. In the autumn especially, visitors were few and far between.
This bright, warm September day had, however, proved seductive. Two
gentlemen on horseback, attended by a groom, had dismounted at the door
and gone up into the little tower, and they had been followed, a half
hour later, by some guests from the neighborhood, who had driven up the
mountain-side in a light carriage.
The gentlemen were now standing on a little stone platform of the tower,
and one of them was talking eagerly and excitedly as he called his
companion's attention to certain newly-discovered beauties in the
landscape. "Yes, our Hochberg is celebrated, there's no doubt of that,"
he said finally. "I felt I must show it to you, Hartmut. Do you not
think the view across this far green ocean of forest is unparalleled?"
Hartmut did not answer. He seemed to be searching for some particular
place through his field glass.
"In which direction does Fürstenstein lie? Ah, I see, over yonder. It
seems to be an immense old building."
"Yes, the castle is well worth seeing," said Prince Adelsberg. "You were
quite right, though, day before yesterday, to refuse to accompany me
there. The visit worried me to death."
"Indeed! You spoke very enthusiastically of the head forester to me."
"Yes, I always enjoy a chat with him, but he had gone driving, worse
luck, and only returned just as I was leaving. His son is not at
Fürstenstein either, he's at college studying forestry, and so I was
entertained by the daughter of the house, Fräulein Antonie von Schönau.
I had a weary hour, I can assure you. A word every five minutes, and a
minute getting that one out. She's a fine housewife, I fancy, with no
brains for anything beyond. It was up hill work talking to her, and no
mistake; then I had the honor of meeting her lover. A genuine,
unsophisticated country squire, with a very energetic mother, who
evidently has both him and her future daughter-in-law well under her
control. Oh, we had a highly intellectual conversation, which ended in
their asking my advice about the culture of turnips--I'm so well up in
turnips, you know. Just then, happily, the head forester and his
brother-in-law, Baron Wallmoden, returned."
Rojanow still held the field glass to his eyes, and was seemingly
indifferent to his friend's gossip. Now he said in a questioning tone,
"Wallmoden?"
"The new Prussian ambassador to our court. A genuine diplomatist, too,
if I may judge from appearances; aristocratic, cold, dignified and
reserved to the last degree, but good form, very good form. His wife,
the baroness, was not visible, but I bore her absence with resignation,
for he's a white-haired elderly man, and I doubt not his wife's of the
same stripe."
Hartmut's lip curled as he took the glass down from his eyes. He had not
mentioned his meeting with Frau von Wallmoden. Why not forget the very
name as soon as possible?
"Our romantic loneliness will soon end, Herr von Schönau tells me,"
continued Egon. "The whole court is coming to Fürstenstein for the
hunting season, and I can count on a visit from the duke. He'll come
over to Rodeck as soon as he arrives. I'm not overjoyed, I can tell you,
for my respected uncle will preach at me about my morals in a way poor
Stadinger never thought of doing, and I'll have to stand it, too. At any
rate Hartmut, I can take this opportunity to present you."
"If you think it necessary, and the etiquette of the court permits."
"Bah! The etiquette won't be so strictly observed here, and besides the
Rojanows belong to one of the Bojarin families of your country."
"Certainly."
"Well then, there's nothing to prevent your being presented. I am very
anxious to have the duke meet you, then I'll tell him about your
'Arivana,' and as soon as he hears your play, he'll have it put on the
court stage. I've no question of it."
The words conveyed the deep, almost passionate admiration which the
prince had for his friend. The latter only shrugged his shoulders as he
replied carelessly:
"That is possible, if you intercede for me, but I do not want to owe my
success to any man's efforts in my behalf. I am no poet of repute; I
scarcely know whether I am a poet at all or not, and if my work cannot
make its own way I shall not force it on the world."
"You'll be obstinate enough to let a fine opportunity slip, that's like
you. Have you no ambition?"
"Only too much, I fear; perhaps that's the origin of what you call my
obstinacy. I have never been able to subordinate myself and conform to
the rules of every day life, and as to the restrictions and trammels of
your German courts, I could not adjust myself to them."
"Who told you you would have to adjust yourself to them?" questioned
Egon laughingly. "You will be flattered and spoiled there, as everywhere
else, for you will appear in the heavens like a meteor and no one ever
requires stars of that nature to follow a prescribed orbit. Moreover
you will be both a guest and a foreigner; and as such will occupy an
exceptional position. When in addition to that, the poet's halo shines
round your head--"
"You will have found means to bind me to your country, you think?"
interjected Hartmut.
"Well yes, I certainly have not supposed that I, myself, possessed the
power to attach to us permanently so wild and restless a spirit. But the
rising fame of a poet is a bond which is not so easily broken. This very
morning I took an oath to keep you here at any cost."
Rojanow gave him a surprised, searching look. "Why this morning?"
"Ah, that's my secret," said Egon mischievously. "But here comes some
one to join us. I hear steps on the stairs."
Yes, there were steps coming up the old stone stairway, and a second
later the bearded face of the old watchman peered out at the men on the
platform.
"Please be careful, my lady," he was saying. "The last few steps are
very steep; now here we are on the platform." He held out his hand to
assist the lady, who was following him closely, but she paid no heed to
his offer and stepped lightly out on the little stone balcony.
"What a lovely girl," whispered Prince Adelsberg to his friend; but
Hartmut, instead of answering, was making a deep and formal bow to the
lady, who could not conceal a look of surprise when she saw him.
"Ah, Herr Rojanow, you here?"
"I am admiring the fine views from Hochberg of which you, madame, have
heard also, apparently."
The prince's face bore a surprised look when he heard Hartmut address
this lovely girl as madame, and saw that she knew him. He came forward
immediately, in order that he might share his friend's acquaintance, so
Hartmut was constrained to introduce Prince Adelsberg to the Baroness
von Wallmoden; he made a passing allusion to the meeting in the wood,
for the young wife was wrapped in her mantle of icy indifference. It was
scarcely necessary to-day, for Rojanow was as fully determined as she,
to consider their acquaintance as of the slightest.
Egon cast a reproving glance toward his friend, for he could not
comprehend how any one could keep silence about such a happy accident as
that of piloting so lovely a woman through the wood. He entered at once,
and with animation, into a conversation with the baroness. He spoke of
himself as a neighbor, and of his recent visit to Fürstenstein, and his
regret, great regret, at not meeting her on that occasion. But with all
his chatter, the prince kept himself well within bounds, and was the
polite and agreeable courtier. He knew full well that the wife of the
Prussian ambassador, no matter how young and beautiful, was not to be
approached with vapid, idle compliments. Hartmut had made that error in
addressing the unknown girl in the wood, but Egon had the advantage of
knowing to whom he spoke, and succeeded at last in thawing the beautiful
baroness by his gracious, suave manner. Finally he showed her the
landscape, and pointed out and explained the especial objects of
interest.
Hartmut did not enter into the conversation at all, but after handing
the field glass to his friend, excused himself on the plea of searching
for a lost pocket-book. The watchman of the tower volunteered to go in
search of it for him, but Rojanow declared he would go and look for it
himself. He remembered the exact place, where, as he mounted the stairs,
he had heard something drop, but had paid no attention to it at the
time. He would go and find it, and then return to the platform. And
with a bow he left them.
Egon, under other circumstances, would have expressed his surprise that
Hartmut did not accept the old watchman's offer, instead of going
himself. But now he saw his friend depart without protest; he was not
unwilling to have the field to himself. The baroness had already raised
the glass to her eyes, and was following attentively his explanations
and comments on the surrounding country.
"And over yonder, behind that mountain of forest, lies Rodeck," he said
at last. "The little hunting lodge where we two misanthropes live like
hermits, cut off from all the world beside, save the apes and parrots
which we brought from the East, and they, by the way, are growing very
melancholy in their new home."
"One would never take your highness for a misanthrope," said Frau von
Wallmoden with a fleeting smile.
"I confess I haven't much taste for it, myself, but once in a while
Hartmut has a touch of the disease, and it is for his sake that I have
buried myself in this solitude."
"Hartmut? That is a Hungarian name! It's very surprising that Herr
Rojanow speaks such pure German without the slightest accent. And yet he
told me he was a foreigner."
"Yes, he is from Roumania, but he was educated, partially at least, by
kinsfolk in Germany, from whom he also got his Christian name." The
young prince explained so unconcernedly that it was evident he knew as
little about his friend's family as did his listener.
"You seem to be very partial to him." There was a slighting tone in her
voice.
"Yes, I am indeed," exclaimed Egon, roused in an instant. "And not I,
alone. Hartmut has one of those attractive, genial natures, which wins
upon all who know him. But the stranger who does not see him
unrestrained and at his best, can form no judgment of what he is. Then a
flame of fire bursts from his soul, and touches all those with whom he
comes in contact. He exercises a charm which none can resist, and where
he leads all must follow."
This glowing eulogy was listened to with cool indifference by the young
woman, whose whole attention seemed to be centered in the landscape, as
she answered:
"You are right, doubtless. Herr Rojanow's eyes indicate an unusually
fiery temperament, but their expression is uncanny and surely not
sympathetic."
"Perhaps because they have that peculiar and demoniacal expression which
is always the indication of genius. Hartmut has great talent; he
sometimes frightens me with it, and yet it attracts me irresistibly. I
really do not know how I could live without him, now. I shall do
everything in my power to make him remain with me."
"In Germany? Your highness sets yourself a hard task. Herr Rojanow has a
very contemptuous opinion of our country, I can assure you. He expressed
himself most forcibly to that effect, the other day in the wood."
The prince listened attentively. These words explained to him what he
had at first thought so singular; why Hartmut had not mentioned to him
the meeting with the baroness. He smiled as he said: "Ah, that's why he
never mentioned meeting you to me. You probably showed him you did not
approve of his candid avowal concerning Germany; you served him just
right, for there's no sense in his lying so persistently. He has often
angered me with his harangues against my country, all of which I thought
he meant, at the time, but now I know better."
"You do not believe, then?" Adelheid turned suddenly and faced the
speaker.
"No, I have the proof of it in my hand. He fairly revels in our German
scenery. Your ladyship looks at me incredulously; may I tell you a
secret?"
"Well?"
"I went to Hartmut's room, this morning, to look for him," began the
prince, "and he was not there; but I found on his desk what was better
than finding him--a poem which he had evidently forgotten to lock up,
for he never intended it for my eyes, that's certain. No pricks of
conscience prevented my stealing it, and I have it with me this minute.
If you would care to glance at it--"
"I do not understand the Roumanian tongue," responded Frau von
Wallmoden, with a slight sneer; "and I imagine Herr Rojanow has not
condescended to write in German."
For answer Egon drew a paper from his pocket, and unfolded it. "You are
prejudiced against my friend, I see, but I do not want to leave him in
the false light in which he has placed himself in your eyes. May I not
read this to you, and let his own words be his justification?"
"If you desire."
The words were spoken indifferently, but Adelheid's eyes sought the
paper with an expression of keen interest. A few verses, written in a
careless, hasty hand, covered the white page. Egon began to read. They
were indeed German verses, but in them was a pureness and euphony which
told that they could only have been written by a master of that tongue,
and the description which they gave was one well known to both
listeners. Deep, sad, woodland loneliness, pervaded by the first breath
of autumn; endless green depths which swayed and beckoned with their
gloomy shadows; fragrant meadows flooded with the golden sunlight;
silent stretches of water in the far distance, and the noisy murmur of
the mountain brook, as it rushed down from some nearer height. This
picture had life and speech in it, too, and had its echoes of an
old-time woodland song; the rustle and whisper of the swaying branches
sounded to the ear like a soft, low melody, and above all and through
all, was the deep, pent-up longing for that peace which was the
background of the whole scene.
The prince had begun with fervor, and entering into the spirit of the
poem, read clearly and intelligently. As he finished, he turned to the
baroness with a triumphant, "What do you say to that?"
Frau von Wallmoden had not lost a word; she had not looked at the
reader, though, but had gazed across the distant hills. Now, at the
prince's question, she turned slowly. "Is this the language of one who
despises our country?" he continued, confident he had the best of the
argument. And as he looked closely at her, while demanding justice for
his friend, he realized for the first time, just how lovely this Frau
von Wallmoden was. The rosy tints of the setting sun softened the look
in the lovely eyes, and added beauty to the tender oval of her face; but
there was no softness in the cold, deliberate answer: "It is really
quite surprising that a foreigner should understand our language so
well."
Egon stared at her. Was this all she had to say? He had expected
something quite different. "And what do you think of the poem itself?"
he asked.
"Very full of sentiment. Herr Rojanow seems to possess a great deal of
poetical talent. Many thanks for your field glass, and now I must go
down to my husband. I fear he is tired already, waiting for me."
Egon folded his paper without a word and returned it to his pocket. He
had been very enthusiastic over his friend's production, and this young
woman, colder and more frozen than ever now, chilled him to the bone.
"I have had the honor of meeting his excellency, and will accompany you
down, with your permission," he said, courteously.
She gave a slight bow of acknowledgment and left the platform, followed
by the Prince, who had grown suddenly very taciturn. He felt annoyed on
his friend's account, and regretted now that he had read, what to him
seemed such a wonderful poem, to a woman who evidently knew nothing
whatever of poesy.
Hartmut had, in the meantime, after leaving the platform, descended the
winding stairs slowly. The lost purse was a mere subterfuge, for it lay
in its accustomed place in an inner pocket.
Adelheid von Wallmoden had mentioned to the prince, soon after she
joined them on the platform, that her husband was awaiting her in the
little inn, but that he had not cared to climb the steep, dark stairs.
Hartmut knew he could not avoid a meeting, but he would at least brave
it without witnesses.
If Wallmoden saw his old friend's son and recognized him, he might not
be able, for the moment, to master his surprise.
Hartmut did not fear this meeting, though he knew it would be both
painful and uncomfortable. There was but one in the whole world whom he
feared; but one pair of eyes under whose gaze he would lack courage to
lift his own, and in all probability he would never meet that one.
He could face all others with a proud defiance; he had but exercised his
right in abandoning a hated career. He was decided that there should be
no questioning or reproving; if he were recognized, he should request
the ambassador in a most decided manner, to make no reference whatever
to a past with which he was done forever.
Upon the little veranda of the summer inn, Herbert von Wallmoden sat
with his sister. The impending arrival of the duke and his court for the
autumn hunting had detained the head forester at home, where he was in
great demand. The betrothed pair stayed at Fürstenstein, also, and as
nothing better offered itself for the day, the three guests decided to
come to Hochberg.
The view was especially fine this afternoon and the air was like summer.
"This Hochberg is really worth seeing," said Frau von Eschenhagen, as
her eyes went searchingly over the landscape. "But we have nearly as
good a view here as up above. I certainly will never climb up those dark
stairs, and lose my breath to see any more. No, I thank you."
"Adelheid was of a different opinion," responded her brother, as he gave
a fleeting glance up the tower. "She suffers neither from fatigue nor
heat."
"Or cold either. That was proven the day she was drenched to the skin.
She hasn't even a sniffle from it."
"I have requested her to take a servant with her in future when she goes
upon her rambles," said Herbert quietly. "To be lost in the forest and
have to wade through a brook and then finally be forced to call to her
aid a stray huntsman, are things that I do not care to have repeated.
Adelheid saw that as clearly as I, and will not go unattended for the
future."
"Ah, she's an excellent, sensible wife, a healthy nature through and
through, with a proper aversion for adventure and romance," said Regine
warmly. "Ah, there are other visitors on the tower. I thought we would
be the only guests to-day."
Wallmoden glanced indifferently toward the tall, aristocratic young man
who had just emerged from the tower door and was coming toward them;
Frau von Eschenhagen's glance was careless, too, but her look changed to
one both sharp and intense, and she cried out:
"Herbert, look!"
"At what?"
"At that stranger. What a strange resemblance."
"To whom?" asked Herbert, looking searchingly, too, into the face of the
stranger, who was nearer them now.
"It's impossible! That is no passing resemblance. It is he, himself,"
cried his sister.
She sprang up pale with excitement, with her eyes fixed and staring at
the young stranger, who was just putting his foot on the first step of
the shaded veranda. Now his eyes met hers, his large, dark, flaming eyes
which had so often looked into her own and pleaded for him in his
childhood, and all doubts vanished.
"Hartmut, Hartmut Falkenried! You!"
She stopped suddenly, for Wallmoden laid his hand heavily, very heavily,
on her arm, and said sharply: "You are in error, Regine, we do not know
this gentleman."
Hartmut was startled, when, upon reaching the top step, he recognized
Frau von Eschenhagen. The lattice-work had prevented his recognizing
her, and for her presence he was not prepared. But at the very moment
when he realized who it was, the ambassador's words sounded in his ears.
He understood only too well what the tone and words implied and the
blood rushed to his temples.
"Hartmut!" Frau Regine called again, looking uncertainly at her brother,
who still held her arm fast.
"We do not know him," he repeated in the same tone. "Must I repeat it to
you again, Regine?"
She understood his meaning now, and turned with a half-threatening,
half-pained glance from the son of her old-time friend, as she said
bitterly: "You are right. I was mistaken."
Hartmut drew himself to his full height, and an angry look flashed
across his face as he drew a step nearer.
"Herr von Wallmoden!"
"What is it?" answered the other in a sharp, but contemptuous tone.
"Your excellency has but forestalled me," said Hartmut, forcing himself
by mighty effort to speak quietly. "I came to request you not to know
me. We are strangers to one another."
Then he turned with a haughty, defiant air, and disappeared within the
little inn.
Wallmoden looked after him with knitted brow, and then turned to his
sister. "Could you not have restrained yourself, Regine? Why make a
scene? This Hartmut exists no more for us."
Regine's face showed clearly her intense excitement, and her lips
trembled as she answered:
"I am no such staid diplomat as you, Herbert. I have not yet learned to
be calm and indifferent when one whom I have for years imagined dead, or
gone to ruin, suddenly springs up before me."
"Dead? He was too young to make that a probability. Gone to ruin? That
is indeed possible, judging from his life lately."
"What do you mean?" asked his sister excitedly. "What do you know of
his life?"
"I know something of it. Falkenried is too dear to me to make me lose
sight altogether of his son. I have never mentioned what I knew to
either of you. But as soon as I returned to my post, ten years ago, I
used my diplomatic position to ascertain what I could concerning them."
"And what did you learn?"
"At first, only what we already knew, that Zalika had taken her son to
Roumania. You knew that her step-father, our cousin Wallmoden, had died
some time before, and after her divorce from Falkenried she always lived
with her mother. From that time we heard nothing of her until she came
to Germany to capture her son, but just before she came, as I learned,
she inherited a large fortune by the death of her brother."
"Her brother? I never knew she had one."
"Yes, he was ten years her senior, and on attaining his majority had
become master of a large estate. His mother's second marriage was
childless and he never married. When he met with a sudden death while
hunting, Zalika, being next of kin, fell heir to his large possessions.
As soon as she entered into possession, she began at once to plan how
she could get her son. You know that part of the story. Then they passed
a few years in a wild, erratic life upon her Roumania estate, and they
fairly flung money away in their extravagance. After that they became
bankrupt, and mother and son went out into the world like gypsies."
Wallmoden told all this in the same cold, contemptuous tone as that in
which he had spoken to Hartmut and in Regine's face, too, was a look of
abhorrence for the wife and mother who had fulfilled so ill the duties
of her station. But she could not restrain the anxiety she felt for the
son, as she asked:
"And since then? Have you heard nothing further?"
"Yes, on several occasions. Once when I was with the embassy at
Florence, I heard her name mentioned incidentally. She was at Rome; then
a year after that she was back in Paris again; and sometime later I
heard that Frau Zalika Rojanow was dead."
"So she is dead," said Regine, softly. "How did they live all these
years?"
Wallmoden shrugged his shoulders. "How do all adventurers live? Perhaps
they had saved something from the shipwreck, perhaps they hadn't. At any
rate she was to be found in the saloons of Rome and Paris. A woman like
Zalika could always find assistance and protection. As a Bojar's
daughter she had her title of nobility, and even the forced sale of her
Roumanian estate, about which many knew, may have aided her to play her
_rôle_. Society opens its arms only too willingly to such as she,
especially when they have talent, and that Zalika undoubtedly had. By
what means she lived is another question."
"But Hartmut, upon whom she forced such a life, what of him?"
"He's an adventurer. What else could you expect?" said the ambassador in
his curtest tone. "He inherited her temperament, and his life with her
has developed the dormant tendency. Since his mother's death, three
years ago, I have heard nothing of him."
"And why did you keep all this from me?" said Regine, reprovingly.
"I wanted to spare you all I could. You had always given the boy too
warm a place in your heart, and I thought it better to let you imagine
him dead. Have you ever told Falkenried any of your idle speculations
concerning him?"
"Once I ventured to speak of the past to him. I hoped to break through
the icy reserve which he always maintains towards me now. He looked at
me, I will not soon forget his eyes, and said with fearful
impressiveness: 'My son is dead. You know that, Regine. We will let the
dead rest in peace.' I have never mentioned Hartmut's name since then."
"I suppose I hardly need counsel you to be silent when we return home,"
continued her brother. "On no account let Willibald hear of this
meeting, for he's so good-natured that he'd be off at once if he heard
his boyhood's friend was in the neighborhood. It's much better he should
know nothing about it. If there should be a second meeting I will just
ignore the fellow. Adelheid does not know him; in fact she doesn't even
know that Falkenried had a son."
He broke off suddenly and arose, for his young wife and her escort
emerged at that moment from the tower door. The prince greeted the
ambassador and his sister, whom he had met a day or two before, and
asked quite innocently whether they had seen his friend Rojanow, who had
disappeared from the tower a few moments before.
Wallmoden threw a warning glance toward his sister, who stared at the
prince in surprise, and answered promptly and politely that he had seen
no gentleman, and added that he was just on the point of going in search
of his wife, as it was quite time they should return home. The order to
the groom was given at once, and a minute later the prince was bowing
low to the fair woman and her husband, whom he had accompanied to the
carriage. He stood a full minute looking after them when the carriage
rolled away.
Hartmut stood at the window of the little public room looking at the
trio in the carriage, also.
On his face lay the same deadly pallor as when the name of Wallmoden was
mentioned two days before, but to-day it was the pallor of a wild,
intense anger. He had steeled himself against question or reproof; these
he would have met with supercilious arrogance, but the contemptuous
manner in which he had been set aside struck him to his heart's core.
Wallmoden's words to his sister, "We do not know him. Must I repeat that
again?" incited his whole being to revolt. He felt keenly the sentence
which lay in them. And Aunt Regine, too, the woman who had once shown an
almost motherly affection for him, she turned her back on him as if
ashamed of her first impulse to speak to him. That was too much!
"Oh, here you are at last," sounded Egon's voice from the door. "You
disappeared most mysteriously. Well, did you find your pocket-book?"
Hartmut turned toward his friend; he felt he must be on his guard.
"Yes," he said absently. "I found it on the stair, as I expected."
"You might as well have let the watchman get it for you. But why didn't
you come back? 'Twas very shabby of you to desert Frau von Wallmoden and
me. You have not, I fear, won the lovely lady's favor. You were most
ungracious."
"I shall have to endure my misfortune as best I can," said Hartmut with
a shrug.
The young prince came nearer, and laid his hand affectionately on his
shoulder.
"Or perhaps you incurred her displeasure day before yesterday? It is not
your wont to go off on a tangent when you are conversing with a charming
woman. O, I know all about it; the baroness thought fit to reprove you
for your attack on Germany, and you resented it. Now, a man should agree
to everything which comes from such lips."
"You seem to be quite excited," sneered Hartmut. "Better look to it that
the gray-haired husband does not grow jealous, in spite of his years."
"Yes, they're a singular couple," said Egon, half aloud, as if lost in
thought. "This old diplomat, with his gray hair and his keen, immobile
face, and the young wife with her dazzling beauty like a--like a--"
"Northern light, above a sea of ice. It is a question which of the two
is farthest below freezing point."
Prince Egon laughed out at the comparison. "Very poetical and very
malicious. But you are right enough. I felt the icy breath of this polar
star several times myself. It's just as well I did, for it is all that
saved me from falling head over heels in love with her. But I think we'd
better be starting now, don't you?" He turned to the door to order the
groom to bring around the horses.
Hartmut, on the point of following him, turned once more to glance from
the window at the carriage, which could be seen through an opening in
the trees. He clenched his fist as he muttered:
"We will speak yet, Herr von Wallmoden. I will remain now. He shall not
imagine that I am a coward and flee from him. Egon shall bring my work
to the notice of the court. We shall see then whether he will dare to
treat me like an adventurer. He shall pay yet for that glance and tone."