“You seem to be very partial to him.”  There was a slighting tone in her voice.

“Yes, I am indeed,” exclaimed Egon, roused in an instant.  “And not I, alone.  Hartmut has one of those attractive, genial natures, which wins upon all who know him.  But the stranger who does not see him unrestrained and at his best, can form no judgment of what he is.  Then a flame of fire bursts from his soul, and touches all those with whom he comes in contact.  He exercises a charm which none can resist, and where he leads all must follow.”

This glowing eulogy was listened to with cool indifference by the young woman, whose whole attention seemed to be centered in the landscape, as she answered: 

“You are right, doubtless.  Herr Rojanow’s eyes indicate an unusually fiery temperament, but their expression is uncanny and surely not sympathetic.”

“Perhaps because they have that peculiar and demoniacal expression which is always the indication of genius.  Hartmut has great talent; he sometimes frightens me with it, and yet it attracts me irresistibly.  I really do not know how I could live without him, now.  I shall do everything in my power to make him remain with me.”

“In Germany?  Your highness sets yourself a hard task.  Herr Rojanow has a very contemptuous opinion of our country, I can assure you.  He expressed himself most forcibly to that effect, the other day in the wood.”

The prince listened attentively.  These words explained to him what he had at first thought so singular; why Hartmut had not mentioned to him the meeting with the baroness.  He smiled as he said:  “Ah, that’s why he never mentioned meeting you to me.  You probably showed him you did not approve of his candid avowal concerning Germany; you served him just right, for there’s no sense in his lying so persistently.  He has often angered me with his harangues against my country, all of which I thought he meant, at the time, but now I know better.”

“You do not believe, then?” Adelheid turned suddenly and faced the speaker.

“No, I have the proof of it in my hand.  He fairly revels in our German scenery.  Your ladyship looks at me incredulously; may I tell you a secret?”

“Well?”

“I went to Hartmut’s room, this morning, to look for him,” began the prince, “and he was not there; but I found on his desk what was better than finding him—­a poem which he had evidently forgotten to lock up, for he never intended it for my eyes, that’s certain.  No pricks of conscience prevented my stealing it, and I have it with me this minute.  If you would care to glance at it—­”

“I do not understand the Roumanian tongue,” responded Frau von Wallmoden, with a slight sneer; “and I imagine Herr Rojanow has not condescended to write in German.”

For answer Egon drew a paper from his pocket, and unfolded it.  “You are prejudiced against my friend, I see, but I do not want to leave him in the false light in which he has placed himself in your eyes.  May I not read this to you, and let his own words be his justification?”