“She had the right of it, mother.  It is true you have always treated me like a school-boy, so how could I defend myself against such an accusation?”

“Boy, I believe you have lost your senses,” said Frau Regine.

Willibald was roused now.  He continued:  “I am no boy, I am the heir of Burgsdorf, and twenty-seven years old.  You have always forgotten that, mother, and so have I, for that matter, but I remember it to-day.”

Frau von Eschenhagen gazed astonished at her son, so tractable all his life until this moment.  “I verily believe you are becoming refractory.  Let us have no more of it, for you know I would never permit such a thing.  What has come over you that you make such reckless assertions?  Because I have seen fit to bring this very unsuitable intercourse to an end, and dismiss this Marietta, do you take it upon yourself, as soon as my back is turned, to make formal apologies and present her with roses which you have just plucked for your bride?  I don’t know what’s come over you.  It’s the first time in your life you ever acted so.  Toni will be very much displeased when she learns what has become of her roses.  It served you just right to have the little vixen trample them under foot.  You won’t be guilty of such idiotic folly soon again, I fancy.”

“I did not pluck the roses for Toni, but for Fraeulein Volkmar,” Will explained, defiantly.

“For—?” the name stuck in the excited woman’s throat.

“For Fraeulein Volkmar!  She was wishing she had a rose to wear in her hair this evening, and said she could not get any in Waldhofen.  So I went to the gardener and got them for her—­now you know all about it, mother.”

Frau von Eschenhagen stood like the pillar of salt; she had become deadly pale and for a moment the light seemed to go out; she saw such fearful possibilities that she lost all power of speech and motion.  Then suddenly she regained all her old strength.  She grasped her son’s arm impressively, as if to make sure of him under all circumstances, and said curtly: 

“Will—­we will start to-morrow.”

“Start where?”

“For home.  We will start early, at eight o’clock, in order to catch the afternoon express, and reach Burgsdorf the day following.  So go at once to your room and do your packing.”

The commanding tone did not this time make the slightest impression on her son.  “I do not intend to pack,” he declared, doggedly.

“You will pack at once, I tell you!”

“No,” said the son.  “If you wish to go, mother, then go—­I remain here.”

This was rebellion, and it removed the last doubt in the mother’s mind that there was something at the bottom of all her son’s assertiveness.  She said now in her hardest tone:  “Boy, wake up, be yourself again!  I really don’t believe you know what has come over you.  But I will tell you.  You are in love—­in love with Marietta Volkmar.”