“Baron Benoni did not confine himself to the course you describe.  He said many things to me that I did not understand, but I comprehended their import.  He began by making absurd speeches, at which I laughed.  Then he asked me to marry him, as I had long known he would do as soon as you gave him the opportunity.  I refused his offer.  Then he insisted, saying that you, sir, had determined on this marriage, and would keep me a close prisoner here until the torture of the situation broke down my strength.  I assured him that I would never yield to force.  Then he broke out angrily, telling me to my face that I had lost everything—­name, fame, and honour,—­how, I cannot tell; but he said those words; and he added that I could regain my reputation only by consenting to marry him.”

The old count had listened at first with a sarcastic smile, then with increased attention.  Finally, as Hedwig repeated the shameful insult, his brave old blood boiled up in his breast, and he sat gripping the two arms of his chair fiercely, while his gray eyes shot fire from beneath the shaggy brows.

“Hedwig,” he cried, hoarsely, “are you speaking the truth?  Did he say those words?”

“Yes, my father, and more like them.  Are you surprised?” she asked bitterly.  “You have said them yourself to me.”

The old man’s rage rose furiously, and he struggled to his feet.  He was stiff with riding and rheumatism, but he was too angry to sit still.

“I?  Yes, I have tried to show you what might have happened, and to warn you and frighten you, as you should be frightened.  Yes, and I was right, for you shall not drag my name in the dirt.  But another man—­Benoni!” He could not speak for his wrath, and his tall figure moved rapidly about the room, his heart seeking expression in action.  He looked like some forgotten creature of harm, suddenly galvanised into destructive life.  It was well that Benoni was not within reach.

Hedwig stood calmly by the table, proud in her soul that her father should be roused to such fury.  The old man paused in his walk, came to her, and with his hand turned her face to the light, gazing savagely into her eyes.

“You never told me a lie,” he growled out.

“Never,” she said, boldly, as she faced him scornfully.  He knew his own temper in his child, and was satisfied.  The soldier’s habit of self-control was strong in him, and the sardonic humour of his nature served as a garment to the thoughts he harboured.

“It appears,” he said, “that I am to spend the remainder of an honourable life in fighting with a pack of hounds.  I nearly killed your old acquaintance, the Signor Professore Cardegna, this afternoon.”  Hedwig staggered back, and turned pale.

“What!  Is he wounded?” she gasped out, pressing her hand to his side.

“Ha!  That touches you almost as closely as Benoni’s insult,” he said, savagely.  “I am glad of it.  I repent me, and wish that I had killed him.  We met on the road, and he had the impertinence to ask me for your hand,—­I am sick of these daily proposals of marriage; and then I inquired if he meant to insult me.”