Egon cast a reproving glance toward his friend, for he could not comprehend how any one could keep silence about such a happy accident as that of piloting so lovely a woman through the wood.  He entered at once, and with animation, into a conversation with the baroness.  He spoke of himself as a neighbor, and of his recent visit to Fuerstenstein, and his regret, great regret, at not meeting her on that occasion.  But with all his chatter, the prince kept himself well within bounds, and was the polite and agreeable courtier.  He knew full well that the wife of the Prussian ambassador, no matter how young and beautiful, was not to be approached with vapid, idle compliments.  Hartmut had made that error in addressing the unknown girl in the wood, but Egon had the advantage of knowing to whom he spoke, and succeeded at last in thawing the beautiful baroness by his gracious, suave manner.  Finally he showed her the landscape, and pointed out and explained the especial objects of interest.

Hartmut did not enter into the conversation at all, but after handing the field glass to his friend, excused himself on the plea of searching for a lost pocket-book.  The watchman of the tower volunteered to go in search of it for him, but Rojanow declared he would go and look for it himself.  He remembered the exact place, where, as he mounted the stairs, he had heard something drop, but had paid no attention to it at the time.  He would go and find it, and then return to the platform.  And with a bow he left them.

Egon, under other circumstances, would have expressed his surprise that Hartmut did not accept the old watchman’s offer, instead of going himself.  But now he saw his friend depart without protest; he was not unwilling to have the field to himself.  The baroness had already raised the glass to her eyes, and was following attentively his explanations and comments on the surrounding country.

“And over yonder, behind that mountain of forest, lies Rodeck,” he said at last.  “The little hunting lodge where we two misanthropes live like hermits, cut off from all the world beside, save the apes and parrots which we brought from the East, and they, by the way, are growing very melancholy in their new home.”

“One would never take your highness for a misanthrope,” said Frau von Wallmoden with a fleeting smile.

“I confess I haven’t much taste for it, myself, but once in a while Hartmut has a touch of the disease, and it is for his sake that I have buried myself in this solitude.”

“Hartmut?  That is a Hungarian name!  It’s very surprising that Herr Rojanow speaks such pure German without the slightest accent.  And yet he told me he was a foreigner.”

“Yes, he is from Roumania, but he was educated, partially at least, by kinsfolk in Germany, from whom he also got his Christian name.”  The young prince explained so unconcernedly that it was evident he knew as little about his friend’s family as did his listener.