“Where have you been hiding yourself, Herbert?” Schoenau asked impatiently.  “I have been searching the whole place for you.”

“I went to the tower-chamber in search of my wife.”

“She’s in the dining-room with all the rest of the world, but you have been missed already.  Come, it is time that we got something to eat.”

With which the head forester took hold of his brother-in-law’s arm and led him away, after his usual jolly manner.

Hartmut stood where von Wallmoden had left him.  His breath came fast and thick, and he was almost stifled with the feelings of shame, and hate, and revolt, which surged within him.  The ambassador’s significant speeches had crushed him utterly, although he had hardly grasped their full meaning.  They tore aside the veil with which he, half unconsciously, half purposely, had enveloped himself.  He had believed implicitly what his mother told him concerning the portion of their fortune which was saved to them, and which enabled them to live and travel.  But there were times when he had chosen to close his eyes rather than enter into investigations.

When his mother’s hand had torn him so suddenly from his father’s side, when after the hard discipline of obedience and duty, he had been plunged into a life of boundless freedom, he had allowed himself an unchecked rein, having no one to whom to account for his actions.  He was too young for reflection or judgment, and later—­but it was too late for him then, and habit had woven a net about him which could not be destroyed.  Now for the first time it was shown him clearly and definitely what that life was which he had led so long; the life of an adventurer, and as an adventurer he was to be expelled from society.

But above all the shame was the sense of ignominy and defeat, the feeling of intense hatred toward the man who had told him the truth.  That unholy heritage from his mother, the hot, wild, passionate blood, which had proven so fatal to the boy, welled up like a stream of fire in the man’s breast and extinguished all feeling but that of revenge.  Hartmut’s handsome features were still disfigured with passion and anger, when, with compressed lips, he finally left the tower room.

He knew and felt but one thing, that he must have revenge, revenge at any price.

It was late when the guests arose from the table.  The duke and duchess retired soon after, and carriage after carriage ascended the castle hill, and descended soon after with its full complement of departing guests; lights were extinguished, and bolts and bars were drawn, and Fuerstenstein was soon enveloped in silence and darkness.

From the rooms occupied by Baron von Wallmoden and his wife lights were still shining.  Adelheid stood at the window peering into the darkness.  She yet wore her rich court gown, and as she leaned her head against the pane, lost in thought, her attitude was one of weariness and languor.