“Yes, two weeks ago, at the summer Capitol.  My father-in-law’s death prevented my doing so before.  But this winter we must keep open house, as my position demands it.  I was greatly surprised and pleased at Adelheid’s behavior at Court.  She acted with a calmness and proud security, upon this entirely strange ground, which was worthy of all praise.  I was all the more convinced how wise my choice had been in every respect.  Well now, about home matters; before everything else, tell me about Falkenried?”

“Well, what is there for me to tell?  Don’t you write one another regularly?”

“Yes, but his letters are always short and monosyllabic.  I wrote him of my marriage, but his congratulations were very laconic.  You must see him frequently, since he has been made minister of war, as you are so near the city.”

A shadow darkened Regine’s clear eyes, and she shook her head sadly.  “You are mistaken, the colonel scarcely ever comes to Burgsdorf.  He grows more reserved and unapproachable each year.”

“I am sorry to hear it; he has always made an exception of you, and I hoped you could use your influence to bring him often to Burgsdorf.  Have you made no attempt to renew the old intimacy?”

“I did at first, but I have finally given it up as hopeless, for I saw that I was only annoying him.  There is nothing to be done, Herbert.  Since that unfortunate catastrophe he has been turned to stone.  You have seen him several times yourself, since then, and know he lives bereft of hope.”

Wallmoden’s face clouded darkly, and his voice was very bitter as he replied:  “Yes, that boy Hartmut has done for him, that’s certain.  It’s over ten years ago now, however, and I did hope Falkenried would take some interest in life again by this time.”

“I never hoped that,” said Frau von Eschenhagen, earnestly.  “The life has all gone from the roots.  I shall never forget, as long as I live, how he looked on that fateful evening, when we waited and waited, first with uneasiness and apprehension, then with deadly anxiety.  You grasped the truth at once, but I would not let you say a word while there was a chance.  I can see him now as he stood at the window staring out into the night, with drawn features and face like death, and to every word of ours only the one answer.  ‘He will come!  He must come!  I have his word.’  And when in spite of all, Hartmut did not come, and we repaired to the railway station at daybreak, only to learn that they two, mother and son, had taken the express train hours before.  God preserve us, may I never see such a look on a man’s face again.  I made you promise to stay by him, for I thought he would put a bullet through his heart before the day was over.”

“You were wrong there,” said Wallmoden with decision.  “A man of Falkenried’s temperament would consider it cowardice to commit suicide, even though the days of his life were one continued torture.  I do not venture to think what would have happened though, had he been allowed to carry out his intention at that time.”