“He’s a handsome man,” mused Marietta, “a very handsome man.  But, grandpapa, I believe he’s also a very stupid one.”

Willibald in the meantime had gone, almost on a run, to the nearest street corner, and there he halted and tried to overcome his bewilderment and collect his thoughts.  It was some time before he started slowly on his homeward way, and while standing dazed and stupid in the little country road, he threw more than one glance back at the doctor’s house.

What would his mother say?  She, who all her life had spurned the play-actor as she would a reptile.  And she was right, Will saw that clearly; there was a sorcery about such people against which one needed protection.

But if this Marietta Volkmar should see fit to go to Fuerstenstein to visit her girlhood’s friend!  The young heir was horrified at the thought, and assured himself that he was horrified, but there was a new light in his eyes all the while.  He saw suddenly, in his mind’s eye, the reception room at Fuerstenstein, and the piano at which his betrothed had sat so long that day, but in her place was a dainty little figure, with a perfect glory of curly brown hair around her head; and the heavy notes of the “Janizary March” changed into the soft, pleading tones of the old-time ballad, and in the midst of it all, broke out the clear, bubbling laugh which sounded like music, too.

And all this sweetness was lost forever, both in this world and in the next, because it had been seen and heard on the stage.  Frau von Eschenhagen had often expressed her views on that subject, and her son, a good, obedient son always, looked upon her as an oracle.  But now he heaved a deep sigh, as he said half aloud: 

“What a shame!  What a lamentable shame!”

CHAPTER VI.

The little mountain of Hochberg rose about half way between Fuerstenstein and Rodeck.  It was celebrated, and justly, for the fine and extensive view which could be obtained from its highest point.  An ancient stone tower, all that now remained of a castle long since fallen into decay, stood upon the extreme summit.

A few peasants, more zealous than their neighbors, had built a little inn or house of rest and refreshment at its base.  They made a pretense of keeping the mountain roads in order, and demanded a fair toll from the stray tourist who came to climb the winding tower stairs.

Strangers came but seldom, however, into this wild, unknown mountain region.  In the autumn especially, visitors were few and far between.  This bright, warm September day had, however, proved seductive.  Two gentlemen on horseback, attended by a groom, had dismounted at the door and gone up into the little tower, and they had been followed, a half hour later, by some guests from the neighborhood, who had driven up the mountain-side in a light carriage.

The gentlemen were now standing on a little stone platform of the tower, and one of them was talking eagerly and excitedly as he called his companion’s attention to certain newly-discovered beauties in the landscape.  “Yes, our Hochberg is celebrated, there’s no doubt of that,” he said finally.  “I felt I must show it to you, Hartmut.  Do you not think the view across this far green ocean of forest is unparalleled?”