It was toward nine o'clock in the evening when Prince Adelsberg left his quarters to go to the Commanding General. He was not obeying an official order, but an invitation, for the General had been close friends with his father, and had shown paternal attention to the son all during the campaign.
Egon would have given much to have been permitted to remain at home to-night, for the encounter with Hartmut had shaken him to the inmost heart, but the invitation of the superior could not be disregarded, and one could not follow one's inclinations in war-time.
An adjutant met the Prince upon the stairs, seeming to be in the greatest haste, and only dropping a hint of bad news, which Prince Adelsberg would probably hear from the General. Egon mounted the stairs shaking his head.
The General was alone, pacing the room in apparent excitement and with a face which boded no good.
"Good evening, Prince Adelsberg," he said, pausing in his walk at the entrance of the young officer. "I am sorry I cannot promise you a pleasant evening, but we have received news which will probably ruin every pleasure of being together."
"I just heard a hint about it," replied Egon; "but what has happened, Your Excellency? The dispatches of to-day noon sounded favorable."
"I have had this news but an hour. You yourself delivered the suspicious man who had been seized by our outposts to headquarters. Do you know what he had with him?"
"Yes, for Captain Salfeld sent the papers with the prisoner. I was also of the opinion that he was to complete the information verbally, as they had been carefully prepared. They had apparently counted upon the possibility of the man's falling into our hands. He would not confess anything, but I knew he would be examined closely here."
"Which has been done. The man was a coward, and when he saw the bullet threatening him he saved himself by a confession, the truth of which cannot be doubted. You remember that in one of the papers it was mentioned that one could in an extreme case follow the heroic example of the commander of R----?"
"Yes, that is incomprehensible, as the fortress is on the eve of surrender. General Falkenried sent word that he hopes to move in by to-morrow."
"And I fear he will make his word good," cried the General. Egon looked at him in amazement.
"Youfear, Excellency?"
"Yes, for there is a scoundrelly scheme--a betrayal without example. They mean to surrender the fortress, and when their garrison has withdrawn to a safe distance, and our army has moved in, they intend to blow the citadel to atoms."
"For God's sake!" shrieked the Prince in horror. "Cannot General Falkenried be notified?"
"That is the question. I fear that it will not be possible. I have sent out warnings upon two different routes, but our direct connection with R---- is cut off; the enemy has the mountain passes in possession; the messengers will have to make a wide circuit and cannot arrive there in time."
Egon was silent in deepest consternation. The passes were, indeed, occupied by the hostile forces. Eschenhagen's regiment had been sent to clear the way, but that might take several days.
"We have considered all possibilities," continued the General, "but there is no way out of it--nothing but a slight hope that the surrender has been delayed in some way; but Falkenried is not the man to allow himself to be kept waiting. He will hasten the finale and then he is lost with perhaps thousands with him."
He resumed his walk through the room. One could see how the fate of his endangered comrades went to the heart of this iron man.
The Prince, too, stood helpless, but suddenly a thought flashed upon him. He drew himself up.
"Your Excellency."
"Well?"
"If it should be possible to send a dispatch over the passes, a good horseman might possibly get to R---- by to-morrow morning. Of course, he would have to ride for life and death----"
"And through the midst of the enemy--nonsense! You are a soldier and must tell yourself that it is impossible. The foolhardy rider would not get half a mile--he would be shot down."
"But if a man could be found who would be willing to make the attempt in spite of everything? I know such a man, Your Excellency."
The General frowned angrily.
"Does that mean that you wish to offer yourself for this useless sacrifice? I would have to prohibit that, Prince Adelsberg. I know how to value the courage of my officers, but I shall not give them permission for such impossible enterprises."
"I do not speak of myself," said Egon earnestly. "The man of whom I am thinking belongs to the Seventh Regiment, and is at present upon sentinel duty on the Capellenberg. It was he who reported the prisoner."
The General had grown thoughtful, but he shook his head incredulously.
"I say it is impossible; but what is this man's name?"
"Joseph Tanner."
"Private?"
"Yes, he entered voluntarily."
"You know him, then?"
"Yes, Your Excellency; he is perhaps the best rider in the whole army; dauntless to foolhardiness, and capable to act in such a case with the circumspection of an officer. If the thing can possibly be done, he will do it."
"And you believe--such a thing cannot be commanded--it is, indeed, an act of despair--you believe that the man would take this message of his own free will?"
"I stand for it."
"Then, indeed, I cannot nor dare not say no where so much is at stake. I will order Tanner up immediately."
"May I not take the order to him?" Egon quickly interrupted.
The General stopped and looked at him searchingly.
"You wish to do it yourself--why?"
"To save time; the road which Tanner has to take leads by the Capellenberg; an hour would pass before he could get to headquarters and back."
Nothing could be said against that, but the General seemed to feel that something important was hidden beneath this. An ordinary private would hardly undertake such peril, which drove him almost into death's embrace, but the old warrior did not inquire further. He only asked:
"Do you stand for the man?"
"Yes," returned the Prince, firmly and calmly.
"Very well; then you can inform him yourself. But one thing more--he must have statements for the outposts on the other side, if indeed he reaches it, for every detention may prove fatal where moments count."
He stepped to his desk and wrote a few lines upon a paper, which he handed to the Prince.
"Here is the necessary passport, and here the dispatch to Falkenried. Will you bring me immediate news whether or not Tanner consents to go?"
"Instantly, Your Excellency."
Egon received the papers, took his leave, and hastened to his quarters, where he ordered his horse saddled at once. Five minutes later saw him on his way.
The Capellenberg, of Chapel Mountain, which had probably borne originally another name, but was so called by the Germans because it bore a chapel, was only a small height, partly covered with forests. It was the last outrunner of the mountains at this side, and formed here the border of the German troops. A company of the Seventh Regiment was stationed in the farms which lay scattered over its side. Their position was rightly considered very hard and most dangerous.
The chapel lay desolate and lonely, half buried in the deep snow. Priests and choir had long since fled, and the little edifice bore traces of destruction everywhere, for hot battles had been fought around this height. Walls and roof still stood intact, but a part of the ceiling had fallen, and the wind whistled through the shattered windows. Behind it rose the forest, clad in ice and snow, and all this lay in the uncertain light of the half-moon which was now visible in the heavily clouded sky, shedding her ghostly light upon the surroundings, only to again quickly disappear.
It was an icy winter night, as at that time at Rodeck, and, as then, the horizon was lit up by a dark reddish glow; but no aurora beamed here in gorgeous beauty; the glow which flared here in the north bore witness of battles fought all around; it had its origin in burning villages and farms; the awful signs of the flame of war, which were reflected in the skies.
A lonely sentinel stood here with gun on shoulder--Hartmut von Falkenried.
His eyes hung on the flaming horizon, the dark masses of cloud shone there blood-red, and from time to time a shower of fiery sparks burst from the seething smoke which rested over the earth.
Glow and flame there; ice and night here! The cold, which had been intense already during the day, now grew to the breath of ice, in which all life seemed to become stark, and which chilled the lonely sentinel to the very marrow.
Although he was not the only one who had to do this hard duty, his comrades had not been spoiled by years of life in the Orient and the balmy air of Sicily. Hartmut had not lived through a northern winter since his boyhood; this cold grew disastrous to him, for it seemed to change the blood in his veins into ice.
Slowly the deadly sleepiness, which is not sleep, crept upon him; it made the limbs heavy as lead, and drooped the eyelids forcibly. He who was so terribly threatened, struggled against it with all his will-power; he tried to collect himself and move about; he succeeded for a moment, but exhaustion again approached, the end of which he knew.
Was it not even to be granted him to fall by a bullet?
Hartmut's glance turned to the half-destroyed house of God, as if beseeching help; but what were church and altar to him? He had cast faith from him long ago; only night with death stared him in the face, and life would have given him so much when the atonement should have been completed--possession of his love, the fame of a poet, and perhaps even reconciliation with his father.
But it was not to be. He must stand to his post and wait for the ignominous death which was creeping upon him from the icy darkness. Duty commanded and he--obeyed.
But in the distance sounded steps and voices which came nearer and nearer. They tore Hartmut from the semi-unconsciousness which had already begun to veil his senses.
He roused himself with an effort and made his gun ready, but it was his comrades who drew near. What did it mean? The hour for relief had not yet come; but in a moment a sergeant stood before him.
"Relief--command from headquarters brought by an officer," came the order.
The change was made and a sturdy peasant, who did not seem to mind the cold much, took Hartmut's place. As Hartmut was about to join the sergeant an officer approached him from the other side.
"Let the sergeant go on. I wish to speak to you, Tanner; follow me."
Prince Adelsberg, who did not wish the sentinel to witness the conversation, entered the chapel, into which Hartmut followed him.
The pale moonlight falling through the windows revealed all the dismantled and destroyed interior. The fallen ceiling had shattered some of the pews; the altar alone stood undemolished.
Egon had walked to the middle of the room, where he stopped and turned.
"Hartmut."
"Herr Lieutenant."
"Stop that, we are alone," said the Prince. "I did not think, that we should meet like this."
"And I hoped I should be spared it," said Hartmut hoarsely, "You have come----"
"From headquarters. I heard that you had been ordered to sentinel duty on the Capellenberg. That is awful duty for such a night as this."
Hartmut was silent; he knew that without this interruption it would have been his last duty.
Egon looked at him with concern. In spite of the uncertain light he saw how rigid and exhausted was the man who leaned against one of the pillars as if he needed support.
"I came to bring you an order, but it is left to your own free will to accept it or not. The matter is considered almost impossible, and it would be, perhaps, to any one else. You have courage for it, I know, but the question is, have you the strength after all these exertions?"
"Fifteen minutes' rest and warmth will give me the strength. But what does it concern?"
"A ride for life or death. You are to take a message through the midst of the enemy--to R----"
"To the fortress?" cried Hartmut with a start. "There stands----"
"General Falkenried with his brigade; he is lost if the message does not reach him. We lay his safety in the hands of his son."
Again Hartmut started. Gone were frost and exhaustion. With feverish excitement he grasped the Prince's arm.
"I am to save my father? I? What has happened? What must I do?"
"Listen. The prisoner whom you reported to me to-day has given us a terrible disclosure; it concerns a betrayal. The fortress is to be blown up as soon as their troops are in safety and ours have taken possession. The General sent warnings instantly, but they will not reach them in time, as they have to take a circuitous route. Your father thinks of taking possession to-morrow. He must be warned before that, and there is only one possibility. The messenger must go over the mountain passes, which are held by the enemy. If successful, the news will reach there to-morrow before noon, but the way----"
"I know it," interrupted Hartmut. "Our regiment took it only fourteen days ago coming here. The passes were free then."
"So much the better! Of course you must take off your uniform, which would betray you."
"I shall change only cloak and helmet. If I am held up at all, my fate is sealed--so it is only important that I be not recognized in flying past. If only a good capable horse can be found!"
"It is at hand. I brought my Arab--my Saladin--with me. You know him and have often ridden him. He flies like a bird, and must do his master achievement this night."
The conversation had been conducted with flying haste, and now the Prince drew out the papers which he had received at headquarters.
"Here is the order of the Commanding General, which puts everything at your disposal when you reach our outposts--and here the dispatch. Give yourself half an hour's rest, for your strength might not hold out, and you will break down on the way."
"Do you think that I need rest and recreation now," cried Hartmut, flashing up. "I shall surely not break down now; it will have to be under the fire of the enemy if I do. I thank you, Egon, for this hour, in which you at last--at last--speak to me free from that base suspicion."
"And in which I send you out into death," said the Prince softly. "We will not shun the truth. It will be a miracle if you get through safely."
"A miracle."
Hartmut's glance wandered to the altar, upon which rested the pale light of the moon. He had forgotten long ago how to pray, yet at this moment he sent up a silent, fervent prayer to the heavens--to the power which could do miracles.
"Only until I have saved my father and his men--only so long guide and keep me!"
In the next second he drew himself up. It was as if Egon had poured glowing life power into the veins of the man who so shortly since was threatened with death through cold and exhaustion.
"And now let us say good-by," whispered Egon. "Farewell, Hartmut."
He opened wide his arms and Hartmut fell upon his breast.
All that had stood between them was buried in this embrace. The old glowing love burst forth powerfully again for the last time, for both felt that they would not meet again--that this was a final farewell.
Scarce fifteen minutes later a horseman dashed away; the slender Arab flying so that his hoof seemed not to touch the ground. In furious gallop he flew along over the snow through ice-covered forests, over frozen brooks on and on into the mountain passes!
The next day brought clear, frosty weather, but the sun shone brightly and the cold had somewhat abated.
In Prince Adelsberg's quarters were Eugene Stahlberg and Waldorf, the latter being off duty today on account of a fall upon the ice, resulting in an injury to his hand, which prevented him from marching with his company as Egon had done.
The gentlemen were awaiting their princely comrade, who was expected soon, and entertained themselves in the meantime by teasing Peter Stadinger, who had, as in duty bound, appeared at his young master's this morning, and who also awaited him now.
The young officers knew nothing as yet of the news which had been obtained at headquarters yesterday, and were in the best of spirits--taking all possible pains to call forth in Stadinger the far-famed churlishness. But it was not successful today. The old man remained laconic and reticent. He would only repeat his question: When would His Highness return? and if it would be a serious skirmish to which His Highness had marched? until finally Waldorf lost all patience.
"Stadinger, I believe you would like best to pack up your Prince and take him back with you to your Rodeck, which is safe from bombs," he asserted. "You must get over this anxiety in the war--remember that."
"And, besides, the Prince has only marched out to reconnoitre," added Eugene. "He is just taking a little walk with his people from the Capellenberg into the neighboring dales and ravines, to ascertain how it really looks there. They will probably exchange a few compliments with the French gentlemen, and then retreat politely; the more impolite attacks will follow in a few days."
"But is there shooting with it all?" asked Stadinger, with such anxious mien that the two officers laughed aloud.
"Yes, shots are being exchanged, too," confirmed Waldorf. "You seem to have great fear of them, yet you are at a safe distance."
"I?" The old man drew himself up, deeply offended.
"I wish I could be in the midst of it also."
"Perhaps to protect your much loved Highness. The Prince would decline that. You would hold on to his coat tails and cry continually, 'Take care, Your Highness, there comes a ball.' That would look fine!"
"Herr Lieutenant," said the old man, so seriously that the gay tease was silenced, "you should not do that to an old hunter who has often climbed after the chamois, and has fired his gun when he had scarcely a foot's breadth of ground to stand on; I feel so depressed and anxious to-day. I wish the day would end."
"Well, it was not meant so seriously," said Eugene, soothingly. "We believe you, Stadinger; you do not look like a man who is afraid. But you must not speak to us about your depressing presentiments. One does not think of them after one has stood so many times in the shower of bullets. When we are happily at home again, I will come to my sister at Ostwalden, and we will then be good neighbors with Rodeck. The Prince loves his old forest nook so well. And now abandon your anxiety, for there he comes already."
Rapid steps were heard on the stairs outside; the old man sighed with relief. But it was only Egon's attendant who appeared in the open door.
"Well, has His Highness arrived?" asked Waldorf; but Stadinger did not allow the man time to answer. He had cast one glance at his face--only a single one--then suddenly grasped his hand with a convulsive clutch.
"What is it? Where--where is my master?"
The man shook his head sadly and pointed silently to the window, to which both officers hastened with fear and dread. But Stadinger lost no time. He dashed out down the stairs, into the little garden which lay before the house, and with a loud, bitter cry sank upon his knees at the side of a stretcher, upon which there lay a slender, youthful figure.
"Quietly," said the physician who had accompanied the sad group. "Control yourself--the Prince is seriously wounded."
"I see it," gasped the faithful old servant; "but not fatally--oh, say not fatally. Only tell me that, Herr Doctor!"
He looked up to the surgeon with such despairing entreaty that the latter had not courage to tell him the truth, but turned to the two officers who now hastened near and overwhelmed him with low, anxious questioning.
"A ball in the breast," he explained, in the same tone. "The Prince begged to be brought to his quarters, and we have used all possible care in the moving; but it will bring the end more quickly than I thought."
"Fatal?" asked Waldorf.
"Beyond a doubt."
The surgeon gave the bearers who prepared to take their charge into the house, a sign to desist.
"Stop, the Prince seems to have something to say to his old servant, and there are no moments to lose."
Stadinger saw and heard nothing of what happened at his side. He looked only upon his master.
Egon seemed to be unconscious. The light hair had become disheveled, the eyes were closed, and beneath the cloak with which he had been covered, and which had partly fallen open, the blood-stained uniform could be seen.
"Your Highness," besought Stadinger, softly, according to the doctor's warning, but with heartbreaking accents, "only look at me! Speak to me! It is I--Stadinger."
The well-known voice found its way to the ear of the desperately wounded man. Slowly his eyes opened, and a slight smile flitted over his features as he recognized the old man who knelt at his side.
"My old Waldgeist," he whispered, "did you have to come--to see this?"
"But you will not die, Your Highness," murmured Stadinger, his whole body a-tremble, but never removing his eyes from his dying master; "no--do not die--surely not!"
"Do you think that it is hard?" said Egon, calmly. "Yesterday--you saw quite correctly--my heart felt heavy; but now it is light. Give my love to Rodeck--and to my forests and--to her, too, the mistress of Ostwalden."
"Whom? Frau Wallmoden?" asked Stadinger, almost terrified at this turn.
"Yes--take her my last greeting--tell her to think of me sometimes."
The words came painfully--brokenly--from the lips which seemed to almost refuse their duty; but they left no doubt as to the meaning of the last greeting.
Eugene had started when he heard the name of his sister, and now bent low over the dying man, who saw the brother of Adelaide--recognized the features which resembled hers so much--and again a smile passed over his face. Then he leaned his fair head quietly and calmly on the breast of his old Waldgeist, and the beautiful blue eyes closed forever.
It had been a short, painless struggle--almost a falling asleep. Stadinger had not moved--had not uttered a sound, for he knew it would hurt his young master, whom he had borne in his arms as a child, and who now drew his last breath in those arms. But, when all was over, the composure of the old man gave way. He threw himself despairingly upon the body and wept like a child.
Over on the other side of the mountain passes also the winter sun shone clear and bright upon the new achievements which the victorious German troops had acquired.
The negotiations with the commander of R---- had been brought to an end, and the fortress had surrendered. The captive garrison moved out, while a portion of the victors had already marched in.
General Falkenried stood in the main square of the lower town with his staff, about to move also into the fortress. The helmets and arms of the troops who were on their way into the citadel glittered in the sunshine. Falkenried issued various orders, then took his stand at the head of his staff and gave the signal to march.
But now there came a horseman in furious haste over the main road; the noble animal he rode was covered with sweat and foam, and his sides bled from the cruel spurs which had hurried him on and on when his strength threatened to desert him. The face also of the rider was disfigured by the blood trickling from beneath the cloth that had been wound around the forehead.
He came flying, as if driven by a tornado, and everything fled from before him until he reached the open square, dashed through the midst of the officers straight up to the General. A few steps from the end of the journey the strength of the noble horse failed, he broke down completely; but at the same moment the rider sprang from the saddle and hastened toward the commander.
"From the Commanding General."
Falkenried started at the first word. He had not recognized the blood-covered face; he only saw that the man who dashed up as if for life or death must bring an important message. But at the sound of that voice, an idea of the truth flashed upon him.
Hartmut swayed and laid his hand for a moment on his brow; it seemed as if he were about to break down, too, like his horse. But he recovered with an effort.
"The General sends word to be cautious--betrayal is planned--the fortress will be blown up as soon as its garrison has moved off. Here is the dispatch."
He tore a paper from his breast and gave it to Falkenried. The officers had become violently excited at the awful news, and pressed around their chief as if expecting to hear from him confirmation of the incredible report. But they had a strange sight before them.
The General, whose iron composure they all knew--who never lost control of himself--had turned deathly pale, and stared at the speaker as if a spirit had risen before him from the ground, while he held the paper unopened in his hand.
"Herr General--the dispatch!"
One of the adjutants who understood the proceedings as little as the others, gently reminded him; but it was enough to bring Falkenried back to consciousness. He tore the dispatch open and glanced it over, and was now again the soldier who knew nothing but his duty.
With full, firm voice he gave his orders. The officers galloped right and left; signals and commands resounded in all directions, and in a few moments the last detachment of soldiers came to a standstill. Upon the fortress sounded the signal of alarm. Neither friend nor foe knew what it meant. Did it not appear as if the so recently conquered place was to be vacated at once? But the orders were executed with the usual alacrity and dispatch; the movements were completed with perfect composure, in spite of the haste, and the troops turned back into the town.
Falkenried was still in the open square, giving orders, receiving reports, watching and guiding everything with his eyes. But still he found a moment's time to turn to his son, to whom he had not as yet given any sign of recognition.
"You are bleeding--let it be bandaged."
Hartmut shook his head hastily.
"Later--I must first see the retreat--the rescue."
The awful excitement sustained him; he did not falter again, but followed with feverish attention every movement of the troops.
Falkenried looked at him and then asked:
"Which way did you come?"
"Over the mountain passes."
"Over the passes! The enemy stands there."
"Yes, there they stand."
"And you came over that way?"
"I had to, otherwise the news would not have reached here in time. I started only last night."
"But that is an heroic deed without an equal! Man, how could you accomplish it?" exclaimed one of the higher officers, who had just brought a report and heard the last words.
Hartmut was silent; only he slowly raised his eyes to his father. He no longer feared the eyes he had feared so long, and what he read in them now told him that here, too, he was free from that awful suspicion.
But even the greatest will power has its limits, and this was reached with the man who had rendered almost superhuman assistance. The face of his father was the last thing he saw--then it disappeared as behind a bloody veil; something hot and wet flowed over his forehead--all became night around him, and he sank to the ground.
And now resounded a crash, under the appalling force of which the whole town trembled and quaked. The citadel, whose outlines had just stood out sharp and clear against the blue sky, was suddenly transformed into a crater, vomiting forth fire and destruction. In those walls a hell seemed to open; showers of rocks and stones rose high in the air, only to come down with thunderous clatter, and immediately there leaped and flickered over all the huge pile of débris a giant pillar of fire and smoke which rose up to the heavens--a terrible sign of flame!
The warning had arrived at the last possible moment. But, in spite of it, there was a sacrifice of life, for whoever had been still in the neighborhood of the citadel had been crushed or severely injured. Still the loss was small in comparison with the incalculable disaster which would surely have taken place had not the warning been brought.
The General, with his officers and nearly all his troops, had been saved. Falkenried had made all the arrangements required by the dreadful catastrophe with his usual promptitude and circumspection. He was everywhere, and his activity and example succeeded in giving back to the men who had been betrayed in the height of victory their equilibrium. Only when the commander had done his duty did the father seek his natural rights.
Hartmut still lay unconscious in one of the neighboring houses, into which he had been carried when he sank to the ground. He neither saw nor heard the father, who stood at his bedside with one of the physicians.
Falkenried silently gazed down upon the pale face and closed eyes, then turned to the physician.
"You do not consider the wound fatal?"
The doctor sadly shrugged his shoulders.
"Not the wound in itself, but the great overexertion of that life and death ride--the heavy loss of blood, the bitter cold of the night. I fear, Herr General, you must be prepared for the worst."
"I am prepared for it," said Falkenried, solemnly. Then he knelt down and kissed the son whom perhaps he had found only to lose again; and hot, burning tears fell upon the deathly white face.
But it was not granted the father to remain with his child for any length of time; he was forced to leave after a few moments, requesting the doctor once more to give his greatest care and skill to the patient.
At the open square were collected the General's staff and other officers, awaiting their chief. They knew he was at present with the wounded man who had brought the warning, and whom nobody knew.
It had become known that he had come over the mountain passes, through the midst of the foe--that he had ventured upon a ride the like of which nobody in the army could imitate--and when the General at last appeared, everybody gathered around him, questioningly.
Falkenried was deeply serious, but the rigid, gloomy look which his face was accustomed to bear had disappeared and given place to an expression which the attendant officers saw now for the first time. In his eyes tears still glistened, but his voice sounded firm and clear as he answered:
"Yes, gentlemen, he is desperately injured, and perhaps it was his last ride that brought rescue to us. But he has done his duty as a man and a soldier, and if you want to know his name--he is my son, Hartmut von Falkenried!"
The old mansion of Burgsdorf lay peaceful and cosy in the brightest sunlight. It had but recently received back its lord, who had been absent nearly a year, and who returned now after the war was over, to his home and his young wife.
The large estate, with its extensive work, had not suffered through his long absence, for it had been under safe guidance. The master's mother had stepped into her old place, and held the reins with her usual firm hand, until the return of her son; but now she laid those reins solemnly into his hands again and insisted, in spite of all prayers and entreaties, upon leaving Burgsdorf and returning to her city home.
At present Frau von Eschenhagen was standing upon the terrace, the broad stone steps of which led into the garden, talking with Willibald, who stood beside her.
Her glance rested with undeniable satisfaction upon the powerful, manly form of her son, who appeared even more stately now because of the acquired military bearing. Perhaps she felt that something different and better had been made of the young country squire than she could have done with her education. But she would not have confessed it at any price.
"And so you wish to build," she was saying; "I thought about as much. The plain old house in which your father and I lived so many years is, of course, not good enough for your little princess. She must be surrounded by every available splendor. Well, I don't mind; you have the money for it, and can allow yourself that pleasure. I am glad to say I have not the responsibility of it any longer."
"Do not act so grim, mamma," laughed Willibald. "If any one should hear you, they would think you the worst of mothers-in-law, whereas if I did not know it from Marietta's letters, I see it daily now, how you spoil her and carry her upon your hands."
"Oh, well, one likes to play with pretty dolls sometimes, even in old age," replied Regine, dryly; "and your wife is such a delicate little doll, who is only good for play. Do not imagine that she will ever get to be a competent farm manager. I saw that from the first moment, and have not allowed her to do it at all."
"And you were right in that," joined in the young lord. "Work and management are my part. My Marietta shall not be worried with it. But, believe me, mamma, one can live and work quite differently when such a sweet littlesingvogelsings courage and love of work into one's heart."
"Boy, I believe you are crazy still," said Frau von Eschenhagen, with her old grim manner. "Has it ever been known that asensibleman--a husband and estate owner--speaks so of his wife--'sweet littlesingvogel'! Perhaps you get that from your bosom friend, Hartmut, who is considered by you all as such a great poet. You always did imitate him as a boy."
"No, mamma, it is really my own. I have composed poetry but once in my life, on the night when I saw Marietta in Hartmut's 'Arivana.' The poem fell into my hands the other day, when I was putting my desk in order, and I gave it to Hartmut, begging him to change it a little, for, strange to say, the rhymes would not fit, and I had not done very well with the meter. Do you know what he said? 'My dear Willy, your poem is very beautiful as far as sentiment is concerned, but I advise you to abandon poetry. Such verse is not to be tolerated, and your wife will seek a divorce if you sing to her in this style.' That is how my 'bosom friend' judges my poetical talent."
"It serves you right, too. What does an estate owner have to do with poetry?" said Regine, caustically.
The door of the dining room was opened and a small head, running over with dark curls, peeped out.
"Is it permitted to disturb the assembly in their important business discourse?"
"Come along, you small elf," said Frau von Eschenhagen. But the permission was superfluous, for the young wife had already flown into her husband's open arms. He bent over her affectionately and whispered something in her ear.
"Are you commencing again?" scolded the mother. "It is really unbearable in your presence nowadays."
Marietta only turned her head, without freeing herself from the embrace which held her so closely, and said, roguishly: "We are celebrating our honeymoon after the long separation, and you must know from your own experience how people act then,nicht wahr, mamma?"
Regine shrugged her shoulders. Her honeymoon with the late Eschenhagen had been of a different kind.
"You received a letter from your grandfather, Marietta," she said, changing the subject; "was it good news?"
"The very best. Grandpapa is quite well and anticipating much pleasure in his visit to Burgsdorf next month. But he writes that everything is very quiet around Waldhofen since Rodeck has lost its master. Everything is closed and desolate since the death of the young Prince. Ostwalden is lonely, and Furstenstein will be deserted, too, after Toni's marriage, which occurs in two weeks. Poor Uncle Schonan will be all alone then."
The last words were spoken with a certain emphasis as the young wife threw a peculiar glance at her mother-in-law.
That upright lady did not pay any attention to it, but only remarked: "Yes, it is a strange notion of Hartmut and Adelaide to live here in the pine forest in a small, rented villa during the first weeks of their married life, while the large castle of Ostwalden and all of the Stahlberg country seats are at their disposal."
"They probably wished to remain with their father a little longer," said Willibald.
"Well, Falkenried could have taken a vacation in this case and gone with them. Thank God that the man has really come back to life, since that terrible bitterness has fallen from him, and he has his son again. I knew well how very hard the flight of the boy struck him. He secretly idolized him, while showing him only severity and requiring in turn nothing but obedience. Of course, what Hartmut accomplished with that night's ride, by which he saved his father with his troops, erases even more than a senseless boy's escapade, for which the mother was really to blame."
"But we are cheated out of all the wedding festivities in the family," pouted Marietta. "Willy and I had to be married quietly because the war broke out, and now, after the war has happily ceased, Hartmut and Adelaide do just like it."
"My child, when one has gone through such things as Hartmut has, all pleasure in festivities is lost," said Frau Eschenhagen, gravely. "And, besides, he has not fully recuperated yet. You saw how pale he was at the wedding. Adelaide's first marriage was, indeed, celebrated with more pomp. Her father insisted upon it, in spite of his low state of health, and the bride was really a queenly, if cold, apparition in her satin train and her laces and diamonds. But, truly, she looked different when she drew near the altar with her Hartmut, in the simple white silk dress and the dainty veil. I never in my life saw her so lovely. Poor Herbert! He never possessed the love of his wife."
"But how could one love such an old Excellency in his diplomatic frock coat? I could not have done it, either," said Marietta, pertly.
But she had touched a weak point; her mother-in-law held the remembrance of her brother in high esteem.
"The necessity would never have come to you," she remarked, with pique. "A man like Herbert von Wallmoden would hardly have wooed you--you little saucy----"
But she got no further, for the saucy little sprite already hung around her neck coaxingly.
"Please don't get angry, mamma. How can I help it that my most undiplomatic Willy is dearer to me than all the Excellencies in the whole world, and he is that to you, too; eh, mamma?"
"You little flatterer!" Regine tried in vain to keep up her severe mien. "You know very well that nobody can get angry with you. A regime will now probably commence here at Burgsdorf which has had no precedent. Willy is ashamed before me now, but after I am gone, he will surrender to you upon grace or displeasure."
"Mamma, do you still cling to that idea?" asked Willibald, reproachfully. "Will you go now, when everything is love and peace between us?"
"Just because of that I shall go, so that it may remain. Do not oppose it, my son. I have to be first where I live and work. You want to be that now; therefore it is best we are not together; and your little princess must not get angry about it. We have heretofore had great anxiety about you, and people do not quarrel when they have to tremble anew each day for husband and son. But that is over now, and I am still too much of the old kind to fit myself to your youth. Do whatever you like, but things must go as I like in my house, and therefore I go."
She turned and went into the house, while the young lord looked after her with a half-suppressed sigh.