Hartmut did not answer.  He seemed to be searching for some particular place through his field glass.

“In which direction does Fuerstenstein lie?  Ah, I see, over yonder.  It seems to be an immense old building.”

“Yes, the castle is well worth seeing,” said Prince Adelsberg.  “You were quite right, though, day before yesterday, to refuse to accompany me there.  The visit worried me to death.”

“Indeed!  You spoke very enthusiastically of the head forester to me.”

“Yes, I always enjoy a chat with him, but he had gone driving, worse luck, and only returned just as I was leaving.  His son is not at Fuerstenstein either, he’s at college studying forestry, and so I was entertained by the daughter of the house, Fraeulein Antonie von Schoenau.  I had a weary hour, I can assure you.  A word every five minutes, and a minute getting that one out.  She’s a fine housewife, I fancy, with no brains for anything beyond.  It was up hill work talking to her, and no mistake; then I had the honor of meeting her lover.  A genuine, unsophisticated country squire, with a very energetic mother, who evidently has both him and her future daughter-in-law well under her control.  Oh, we had a highly intellectual conversation, which ended in their asking my advice about the culture of turnips—­I’m so well up in turnips, you know.  Just then, happily, the head forester and his brother-in-law, Baron Wallmoden, returned.”

Rojanow still held the field glass to his eyes, and was seemingly indifferent to his friend’s gossip.  Now he said in a questioning tone, “Wallmoden?”

“The new Prussian ambassador to our court.  A genuine diplomatist, too, if I may judge from appearances; aristocratic, cold, dignified and reserved to the last degree, but good form, very good form.  His wife, the baroness, was not visible, but I bore her absence with resignation, for he’s a white-haired elderly man, and I doubt not his wife’s of the same stripe.”

Hartmut’s lip curled as he took the glass down from his eyes.  He had not mentioned his meeting with Frau von Wallmoden.  Why not forget the very name as soon as possible?

“Our romantic loneliness will soon end, Herr von Schoenau tells me,” continued Egon.  “The whole court is coming to Fuerstenstein for the hunting season, and I can count on a visit from the duke.  He’ll come over to Rodeck as soon as he arrives.  I’m not overjoyed, I can tell you, for my respected uncle will preach at me about my morals in a way poor Stadinger never thought of doing, and I’ll have to stand it, too.  At any rate Hartmut, I can take this opportunity to present you.”

“If you think it necessary, and the etiquette of the court permits.”

“Bah!  The etiquette won’t be so strictly observed here, and besides the Rojanows belong to one of the Bojarin families of your country.”

“Certainly.”

“Well then, there’s nothing to prevent your being presented.  I am very anxious to have the duke meet you, then I’ll tell him about your ‘Arivana,’ and as soon as he hears your play, he’ll have it put on the court stage.  I’ve no question of it.”