But a thunder-storm from the north was descending upon them all.  Suddenly, without any announcement, Frau von Eschenhagen appeared in their midst.  She had wasted no time in the city with her brother, but came on directly from Burgsdorf, and descended like a veritable thunder-storm upon her brother-in-law, who was in his own room reading the papers.

“Bless us—­is it you, Regine?” he cried, really alarmed.  “This is a surprise.  Why didn’t you send word you were coming?”

“Where is Willibald?” was her only response in an incensed tone.  “Is he at Fuerstenstein?”

“Of course, where else would he be?  He wrote you of his arrival, that much I know.”

“Let him be called—­now, this minute.”

“What’s the matter with you, Regine?” asked the head forester, noticing for the first time her intense excitement.  “Is Burgsdorf burned to the ground?  I can’t bring your Will to you now, this minute, for he’s not here just now, he’s over at Waldhofen—­”

“Probably, at Dr. Volkmar’s.  In that case she’s there too.”

“What ‘she?’ Toni has gone over as usual to be with Marietta; that poor little girl has been in despair for the past few days.  And I want to have a word with you, Frau sister-in-law, while we are on this subject.  How could you have spoken so cruelly to Marietta, in my house, too.  I didn’t hear of it for some time after, but I can tell you I—­”

A loud, angry laugh interrupted him.

Frau von Eschenhagen had thrown aside her bonnet and cloak, and she now strode angrily to her brother-in-law’s chair.

“Do you still reprove me because I did my best to put an unclean thing out of your house?  You have always been blind.  You would not listen to me—­and now it is too late.”

“I believe you’re gone clean mad, Regine,” said Herr von Schoenau solemnly.  He didn’t really know what to think.  “Control yourself long enough to tell me what the trouble is.”

For reply Regine unfolded a newspaper and pointing to a certain paragraph said tragically: 

“Read!”

The head forester began to read, and he, too, soon became excited, and grew red and angry as he read on.  The paper was a weekly, published in the South-German capital, and the article which excited their joint wrath read as follows: 

“We have just learned that a duel with pistols was fought early last Monday morning, in one of the unfrequented suburbs of our city.  The opponents were the well-known society gentleman, Count W., and a young North German landlord, W.v.E., who is the nephew and has been for the past few days the guest of a very prominent member of the diplomatic circle.  The cause of the quarrel which resulted in the duel was a member of the court theatre company, a young singer who has, until now, enjoyed a good reputation.  Count W. was wounded in the shoulder, and Herr v.E., who has left the city since, received a trifling wound in the hand.”