“That won’t help you much,” Herr von Schoenau answered.  “When a model son begins to rebel, that’s the end of it.  It’s hopeless trying to change him, particularly when he’s in love.  But I am very curious to see Will genuinely in love, and to hear what this paragon has to say for himself.”

His curiosity was to be gratified at once, for just at that moment Willibald put in an appearance.

It could be seen at a glance that he had heard of his mother’s arrival and was prepared to face her.  The young heir did not hang back diffidently this time, as he had done when he hid the roses in his pocket two months before.  There was something in his bearing which told he was prepared for combat.

“There is your mother, Will,” began the head forester.  “You must be greatly surprised to see her.”

“No, uncle, I am not,” the young man answered, but he made no attempt to approach his mother, who stood like a threatening cloud, and whose voice was an angry growl as she asked: 

“Perhaps you know, then, why I came?”

“I imagine why, mother, even though I do not know where you obtained your information.”

“The newspapers keep us advised—­there, read that,” and his mother handed him the newspaper from the table.  “But Toni has been here and told us all—­do you hear—­all!”

She spoke the last words in a tone of annihilation, but Willibald did not seem at all disturbed by them, and answered very quietly: 

“Well, then, in that case, there’s no need for my saying anything.  Otherwise I should have spoken to my uncle this afternoon.”

That was too much.  Now the cloud broke with thunder and lightning, and the storm descended with such violence upon the head of the sinning son that there seemed nothing less for him to do than to sink into the ground as a creature too debased to live; but he did not sink; he bent his head before the driving tempest, and when his mother stopped a moment—­she had to take breath—­he looked up quietly and said: 

“Mother—­will you allow me to speak now?”

“Oh, you are ready to speak?  That is really remarkable,” Schoenau interrupted with a sneer.  He felt he had not been kindly used by his daughter and her lover.  Willibald began to speak, at first hesitatingly and slowly, but, as he went on, his voice strengthened, and his courage returned.

“I am very sorry to have grieved you, but I could do nothing else this time.  I was as innocent of any desire to fight a duel as was Marietta.  She was followed in the park by an impertinent fellow who insisted upon pressing his attentions upon her; she was alone, unprotected.  I saw what happened and knocked the fellow down for his pains.  He sent me a challenge which I would not, and dare not decline.  I have only Toni’s pardon to beg for loving Marietta, and that I did immediately upon my arrival.  She knows all, and has given me back my freedom.  We understand and respect one another much more since our betrothal is at an end, than ever we did before.”