“That was very magnanimous, when he was about to gain a million by the sacrifice.  And what did Eugen say to this—­transaction?”

“He did not know of it at the time, for he returned at once to Germany, as had been arranged before.  Herbert came to the house now, daily, and my father grew to like him, and when Herbert finally proposed to him for my hand, I was thankful that the affair had taken the turn it had, and my father imagined he had been paying court to me all this time.  But Eugen was not to be deceived.  As soon as he heard of our betrothal, his suspicions were aroused, and he wrung the truth from me.  Since then he has reproached himself continually, and has a hatred for Herbert, notwithstanding my repeated assurances that I was not coerced, and have had no cause to regret my marriage, and that I find in Herbert an attentive, considerate husband.”

Falkenried looked searchingly in her face as if he would read her inmost thoughts.

“Are you happy?” he asked at last, slowly.

“I am contented.”

“That is much in this life; we are not born to be happy.  I have done you an injustice, Ada.  I thought that the glitter of court life, the opportunity to marry a baron and an ambassador had tempted you to become Frau von Wallmoden, but I find instead—­I am sorry, Ada, that I did you an injustice.”

He extended his hand as he spoke, and in the motion there was a plea for pardon.

“Now you know all,” said Adelheid with a deep sigh, “and I beg you not to discuss the subject with Herbert.  You see for yourself he did nothing dishonorable.  I repeat to you he used no force, my love for my brother was the only force.  I could not have expected Herbert to exert himself as he had to do in Rome—­for a stranger.”

“If a woman had come to me under such circumstances, I should have saved her brother—­without stipulations,” Falkenried exclaimed.

“Ah, you—­I would have followed you with a light heart.”

These words disclosed unconsciously how hard had been the struggle within this girl’s breast.  If a sacrifice had to be made, far easier to make it to the dark, gloomy, rigid man who, notwithstanding all his bitterness and hardness, she could trust implicitly, than to the polite and attentive husband who had taken advantage of her inexperience and fear.

“You’d have had a sad lot in that case, Ada,” the colonel answered with a shake of the head.  “I am one of those human beings who can give or receive nothing more in this world; life was over for me long ago.  But you are right, it is better for me not to discuss this matter with Wallmoden, for if I gave him my opinion—­but he is and ever will be a diplomat.”

The conversation was over and Adelheid rose and said in her usual quiet tone: 

“And now shall I show you to your room?  You must be fatigued after your long journey.”

“No indeed, I’d be a poor soldier to be worn out by a night’s travel.  In the service something else is expected from us.”