Hartmut did not join in the conversation with his usual vivacity, and
when he again drew out the glass from his pocket, at the Prince's
request, he suddenly missed his letter-case.
The watchman offered at once to look for it, but Rojanow declared he
would do it himself. He remembered exactly the place where something
had slipped to the floor when he came up the stairs, which he had not
noticed at the time. It was the letter-case, no doubt, and he would
find it with little trouble and return. Saying which, he bowed and
departed.
Under other circumstances Egon would doubtless have thought it strange
that his friend should refuse the offer of the old man and take upon
himself the trouble of searching the dark stairway, but he was at
present so totally occupied with his office of explanatory exhibitor
that he did not seem to regret being left alone.
Frau von Wallmoden had accepted the glass which he offered her and
followed with apparent attention his explanations as he pointed out all
the various heights and villages.
"And over yonder, behind those hills, lies Rodeck," he concluded; "the
little hunting lodge where we live like two hermits, cut off from all
the world, having only the company of monkeys and parrots, which we
brought from the Orient, and which have already become quite
melancholy."
"You do not look at all like a hermit, Your Highness," said the young
Baroness, with a fleeting smile.
"In truth, I have not much taste for it; but at times Hartmut has
perfect attacks of the ailment, and then I bury myself in solitude for
weeks for his pleasure."
"Hartmut! That is a thoroughly German name, and it is also surprising
that Herr Rojanow speaks German with such fluency and without even a
foreign intonation. Yet he introduced himself to me as a foreigner."
"Certainly. He comes from Roumania, but was raised by relatives in
Germany, from whom also he may have inherited the German name," said
the Prince, simply.
It was plainly to be seen that he knew nothing further of the origin of
his friend. "I became acquainted with him at Paris, when I was about to
begin my trip to the East, and he decided to accompany me. It was my
good star of fortune that brought him to me."
"You seem infatuated with your friend."
There was something like disapprobation in the tone.
"Yes, Your Excellency, I am indeed," affirmed Egon, warmly; "and not I
alone. Hartmut is one of those genial natures who conquers and wins
people by storm wherever he appears. You should see and hear him when
he is heart and soul enthusiastic. Then his soul flames like fire into
yours. He envelops everything with his warmth; one has to follow where
his flight leads."
The enthusiastic eulogy found a very cool listener. The young lady
seemed to bend all her attention upon the landscape, as she replied:
"You may be correct. Herr Rojanow's eyes betray something of it, but
such fiery natures make upon me an impression more uncanny than
sympathetic."
"Perhaps because they bear the demoniac lines which are peculiar to
genius. Hartmut has them. He startles me sometimes, and yet the dark
depths of his nature draw me irresistibly to him. I have actually
forgotten how to live without him and shall try everything to retain
him in our country."
"In Germany? You will hardly succeed in that, Your Highness. Herr
Rojanow has a poor opinion of our fatherland. He betrayed that to me
the day before yesterday in rather an offensive way."
The Prince became attentive. The words at once explained the cold
reserve, which was not usually Hartmut's manner toward a beautiful
woman, and which had surprised him at the first moment. But he smiled.
"Ah, that was the reason why he did not speak of the encounter. Your
Excellency has probably shown him your displeasure. It serves him
right. Why does he prevaricate with such persistency? He has irritated
me often enough with this assumed depreciation, which I accepted then
in good faith; but I know better now."
"You do not believe in it?" Adelaide suddenly turned from the view to
the speaker.
"No, I have the proof of it in my hands. He is infatuated with our
German land. You look at me incredulously, Your Excellency. May I
impart a secret to you?"
"Well?"
"I was looking for Hartmut this morning in his room, but did not find
him, I found, instead, a poem upon his desk, which he had probably
forgotten to lock up, for it was surely not intended for my eyes. I
stole it, without any compunction of conscience, and carry the spoils
still with me. Will you permit me to read it?"
"I do not understand the Roumanian language," said Frau von Wallmoden,
with cool satire. "Herr Rojanow has scarcely condescended to compose a
poem in German."
Instead of answering, Egon drew out the paper and opened it. "You are
prejudiced against my friend; I see it. But I do not like you to regard
him in the wrong light in which he has placed himself. May I justify
him with his own words?"
"If you please."
The words sounded indifferent, and yet Adelaide's gaze was riveted with
a strange expectancy upon the paper, which seemed to contain only a few
hastily written stanzas. Egon read.
They were German verses, indeed; but of a perfection and harmony which
could belong only to a master of the language. The pictures they
conjured up before the listener were strangely familiar. Deep, dreamy
forest solitude, touched by the first breath of approaching autumn;
endless green depths which beckoned and charmed irresistibly with their
twilight shadows; aromatic meadows flooded with sunlight; small, still
waters, which gleamed in the distance, and the foaming forest brook
roaring down from the heights.
And this picture had taken on life and language. That which whispered
in it was the old, old song of the forest itself; its murmuring and
rustling--its mysterious working gathered into words which enchanted
the ear of the listener like melody, while through it all floated and
moaned a deep, unspeakable longing for this forest peace.
The Prince read warmly at first, then with great enthusiasm. Now he
dropped the sheet and asked triumphantly:
"Well?"
The young Baroness had listened spellbound. She did not look at the
reader, but stared motionless into the blue distance. At the question
she started slightly and hastily turned.
"What did you say, Your Highness?"
"Is this the language of a depredator of our fatherland? I believe
not," said Egon in most decided tones, but greatly as he was engrossed
with his friend's poetry, he could still notice how exceptionally
beautiful Frau von Wallmoden looked at this moment.
Of course, it must have been the setting sun which lent the rosy
coloring to her face and the brilliancy to her eyes, for her bearing
was as cold as her answer.
"It is really surprising that a foreigner should command the German
language so perfectly."
Egon looked at her in amazement. Was this all? He had expected a
different impression. "And what do you think of the poem itself?" he
asked.
"Quite excellent. Herr Rojanow seems indeed to possess much poetic
talent. But here is your glass, Your Highness. I thank you. I must be
thinking of the descent now, as I do not wish to keep my husband
waiting too long."
Egon folded up the paper slowly and deposited it in his breast pocket.
He felt the icy breath now surround again the beautiful woman, which
chilled him to the heart.
"I already have the honor of an acquaintance with His Excellency," he
said. "May I renew it today?"
A slight bow gave the permission to accompany her. They left the
platform, but the Prince had grown somewhat monosyllabic. He felt
offended for his friend, and now regretted having given this poetry,
the beauty of which carried him away, to a lady who had no
understanding of, nor appreciation whatever for, poetry.