Ernst Ortlieb, however, made no allusion to business matters, but with a swift gesture handed him the ring which united their two children.  Then, after a rapid glance around had assured him that no one had followed them, he whispered to Herr Casper:  “Tell your Wolff that he was, and would have remained, dear to us; but my daughter seems to me too good for his father’s house and for kindred who fear that she will bring injury and shame upon them.  Your wish is fulfilled.  I hereby break the betrothal.”

“And, in so doing, you only anticipate the step which I intended to take with more cogent motives,” replied Casper Eysvogel with cool composure, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously.  “The city will judge to-morrow which of the two parties was compelled to sever a bond sacred in the sight of God and men.  Unfortunately, it is impossible for me to give your daughter the good opinion you cherish of my son.”

Drawing his stately figure to its full height as he spoke, he gazed at his diminutive adversary with a look of haughty contempt and, without vouchsafing a word in farewell, turned his back upon him.

Repressed fury was seething in Ernst Ortlieb’s breast, and he would scarcely have succeeded in controlling himself longer but for the consolation afforded by the thought that every tie was sundered between his daughter and this cold, arrogant, unjust man and his haughty, evil disposed kindred.  But when he again looked for the daughter on whom his hasty act had doubtless inflicted a severe blow, she was no longer visible.

Directly after he took the ring she had glided silently, unnoticed by most of the company, up the stairs to the second story.  Cordula von Montfort told him this in a low tone.

Els had made no answer to her questions, but her imploring, tearful eyes pierced the young countess to the heart.  Her quick ear had caught Siebenburg’s malicious words and Casper Eysvogel’s harsh response and, with deep pity, she felt how keenly the poor girl must suffer.

The happiness of a whole life destroyed without any fault of her own!  From their first meeting Els had seemed to her incapable of any careless error, and she had merely tried, by her bold, interference, to protect her from the gossip of evil tongues.  But Heinz Schorlin had just approached and whispered that, by his knightly honour, Els was a total stranger to him, and he only wished he might find his own dear sister at home as pure and free from any fault.

Poor child!  But the countess knew who had frustrated her intervention in behalf of Els.  It was Sir Seitz Siebenburg, “the Mustache,” whose officious homage, at first amusing, had long since become repulsive.  Her heart shrank from the thought that, merely from vain pleasure in having a throng of admirers, she had given this scoundrel more than one glance of encouragement.  The riding whip fairly quivered in her right hand as, after informing Ernst Ortlieb where Els had gone, she warned the gentlemen that it was time to depart, and Seitz Siebenburg submissively, yet as familiarly as if he had a right to her special favour, held out his hand in farewell.