Chapter XI: Part 11

"No, Count Steinrueck. I do not belong to your family, as you have just shown me. However unworthy of his betrothed Count Raoul may prove himself, in your eyes he is still the wearer of a coronet, as I am still the adventurer's son, who must not dare to lift his eyes to a member of your family, even although beloved by her. Fortunately, Hertha thinks otherwise. She knows everything, and yet gladly consents to bear my name."

"And I tell you you will rue asking her to share it. You do not know the girl's pride. Avoid her."

"No, no," said Michael, with a half-contemptuous smile. "I know my Hertha better. For months we contended with each other like bitter foes, conscious all the while that we could not live apart. She has been hardly gained, my fair, proud darling. In storm and tempest I won my betrothed from the clefts of the Eagle ridge. No human power can snatch her from me!"

The cold, grave man seemed transformed; passionate delight glowed in his eyes and rang in his voice as he confronted the Count triumphantly.

Again the general gazed at him with that strange expression, in which there was more pain than anger. "Enough," he said, collecting himself. "I must settle with Raoul next. You shall hear from me shortly. Now go."

Michael bowed and went. The Count gazed after him gloomily. It was strange that neither of them could maintain the cold, unfamiliar tone and manner which each tried so hard to assume. They always met at first as superior and subaltern, as unfamiliarly and coldly as if they had never seen each other before; but in a little while they were grandfather and grandson, even in their angry contention. To-day, too, there was open warfare between them when they parted, and yet the Count murmured, when he was alone, "What would I not give if he were Raoul Steinrueck!"

Half an hour afterwards, when the young Count returned from his morning ride, he was told that his Excellency had been inquiring for him, and wished to speak with him. In a few moments he entered the general's study. "You wished to see me, grandfather? Have you any news from Steinrueck?"

For answer his grandfather handed him the telegram. "Read it yourself."

Raoul glanced through it and laid it down. "Sad news, but not unexpected. The last letters prepared us for the end. You said yesterday that if it came you should not be able to leave the capital, so I shall go alone with my mother."

"Yes, _if you can_."

"There will be no difficulty about my leave. The Minister offered to give it to me when he heard of the state of affairs at Steinrueck. I can go at any moment to----"

"Console your betrothed," the general completed the sentence.

"Of course. I have the first right to do so."

"Have you still that right?"

The young Count started at the tone in which the words were spoken, but his grandfather left him no time for surmise, but asked, sharply,--

"What are your relations with Heloise von Nerac?"

The question was so unexpected that for a moment Raoul was confused, but in the next he replied, "Why, she is the sister of my friend Clermont."

"I know it. But is she not something more? No subterfuges! I require the plain, unvarnished truth. Is your intimacy with her such as your betrothed would approve? Yes or no."

Raoul was silent. He was no liar, nor could he feign while those eyes were fixed upon him as if to search his very soul and wring the truth from him however he might try to conceal it.

"It is true, then," said Steinrueck, hoarsely. "I could not and would not believe it."

"Grandfather----"

"Hush! I need no further reply; your silence has spoken. Can it be? A girl like Hertha sacrificed, and to whom? Have you lost both sight and sense? The thing is as incomprehensible as it is disgraceful."

Raoul stood biting his lip and chafing at reproaches uttered in such a tone. It irritated him beyond endurance, and his air when he spoke was defiant rather than ashamed. "You load me with reproaches, grandfather, but Hertha, with her insulting coldness, her frigid reserve, is most to blame for our estrangement. She never loved me; she is incapable of loving."

"You are greatly mistaken there," the general said, bitterly. "You, to be sure, failed to win her love, but another knew how to succeed. To him she is neither proud nor cold; to him she willingly sacrifices her rank, and he dares to offer her a name not without stain,--Michael Rodenberg!"

The young Count at first stood gazing at his grandfather as if thunderstruck, and then his whole nature seemed to rise in revolt. He had, in spite of all, once loved his cold, beautiful betrothed; her invincible reserve had driven him from her. The thought that she could belong to another, and that other the man whom he hated, robbed him of all self-possession, and he burst forth furiously, "Rodenberg? He dare to woo a Countess Steinrueck, to beguile her secretly while she is betrothed to me! Scoundrel----"

"Hush!" the general said, in a tone of command. "You have been the scoundrel, not Michael. He has just been here to recall in Hertha's name her promise to you, and to disclose everything to me. You kept silence, while you betrayed your betrothed."

"How could I speak? You would have annihilated me with your anger if I had dared to tell you of my love for Heloise."

Steinrueck's lip quivered contemptuously.

"It was from fear of me, then? Do you suppose that I care for an obedience founded upon falsehood and treachery? Ah! I fear that even without your breach of faith Hertha would have been lost to you as soon as Michael entered the lists against you."

"Grandfather, this is too much!" Raoul's voice was wellnigh choked with anger. "Would you rank above me, your grandson, the last scion of your house, a man disgraced by his father's shame?"

"A man who will, nevertheless, mount to a height you can never hope to attain. He marches on to his goal although a world in arms oppose him, while you, with all the splendour of your name and of your descent, with all your rich endowments, will never be aught save one of thousands lost in the crowd. You both are of my race, but only one of you has inherited my blood. You are your mother's image; there is in you nothing of your father save his weakness of character. Michael is my own, and if his name were tenfold Rodenberg, I acknowledge him a Steinrueck."

It had come at last, the recognition which the old Count's pride had so long refused to his grandson, which he had never admitted to his face. It broke forth now, almost against his will.

At his grandfather's last words Raoul grew pale; he said nothing, but if anything could increase his hatred of Michael, it was this declaration. Steinrueck paced the room to and fro several times, as if to regain his composure, and then paused before the young Count.

"Your betrothal is annulled. After what you have just admitted to me I cannot dissuade Hertha from recalling the troth she plighted to you. Your mother will tell you of all that you have lost in a worldly point of view. In this matter we are exceptionally of one mind, and she seems to have had a suspicion of the danger that threatened you, for she lately assured me that in compliance with her urgent entreaty you had given up all intercourse with the Clermonts. You have deceived her as you have deceived me, and for the sake of a woman----"

"Whom I love!" exclaimed Raoul, goaded to reply; "whom I love to distraction. Not one word against Heloise, grandfather. I will not suffer it, although I know that you hate both her and her brother because they belong to my mother's native land."

Steinrueck shrugged his shoulders. "Your uncle Montigny belongs to the same land, and you know that my respect and esteem for him are great. But there is something suspicious about this brother and sister, in spite of their lofty descent which seems to be genuine. They mingle aimlessly and idly in society here, and will probably vanish from it some day as suddenly as they appeared in it. Then your foolish romance will come to an end, but it will have cost you a brilliant future."

"Who says it will come to an end? If Hertha can venture to brave your anger, and outrage every tradition of our family, I surely have a right to marry a woman whose name confers more honour upon our house than a Rodenberg can boast."

"You intend to marry Frau von Nerac!" said the general, coldly. "Is your household to be supported by your salary in the Foreign Office? There is no need of explaining my position in the affair. I once allowed that foreign element to mingle among us; it never shall do so again,--it has wrought mischief enough."

"Grandfather, you are speaking of my mother!" cried Raoul, angrily.

"Yes, of your mother, to whom I owe your estrangement from me and from your fatherland,--your indifference to, nay, dislike for what should be most sacred to you. What is there that I have not done to withdraw you from this baneful influence? But kindness and severity have alike proved in vain. The poorest peasant is more devoted to the soil upon which he was born than are you to your country, and linked to a Heloise von Nerac your fate would be sealed. When fear of me no longer restrained you, when death had closed my eyes, it might well be that the last of the Steinruecks turned his back contemptuously upon his fatherland to become body and soul a Frenchman!"

There was in the midst of the old man's indignation such bitter pain in the tone in which these last words were uttered that the angry retort died upon Raoul's lips. His answer was cut short by the opening of the door and by his mother's appearance.

She had no suspicion of what had occurred. The general had gone to her for a few moments after his interview with Michael to tell her of the death of the Countess; his sense of justice forbade his accusing Raoul to her before the young man had been heard in his own defence.

"Oh, you are here, Raoul," she said. "They told me your grandfather had sent for you, and I knew it was to tell you of the despatch from Steinrueck. Are we to start together to-day, or will you follow me tomorrow? I had better take the express train to-night, to be with Hertha as soon as possible."

The general turned with apparent composure to his daughter-in-law: "Raoul is not going to Steinrueck. Circumstances oblige him to remain here."

The Countess looked surprised, but her surmises were wide of the truth. "Can they refuse him a leave upon such an occasion?" she asked. "And you tell me that you cannot go, either, papa? Then what Leon hinted to me yesterday is true. War is unavoidable?"

"I can give you no assurance on that head," replied Steinrueck, ignoring all but her last words. "Every one knows how grave is the situation, and Raoul, like the rest of us, must be ready to stand by the flag."

"Stand by the flag?" repeated the Countess. "He is not a soldier. His delicate health always excluded him from a military career. He was even released from the usual year of service on account of the weakness of his chest."

"That was, it is true, the verdict of the physicians formerly,--a verdict which I never could understand, for Raoul always seemed healthy to me. That he is so at present you will surely not deny. A man who makes it his boast that no hunting-expedition ever fatigues him, who can ride all night and be ready for any madcap exploit in the morning, must be able to serve in time of war."

"And you could be so cruel as to require----"

"What?" the general asked, hastily. "Ah, you dread his serving as a common soldier. Unfortunately, that must be; but it will not be for long, and I shall take care that he is placed near me. Every one knows that he is my grandson, and he has but to fulfil his duty as a soldier."

"But to fight against my people!" Hortense exclaimed, passionately. "If it came to that it would kill me."

"We live through much, Hortense, that is harder to bear. I know how many tears it would cost you, and I could not ask you to stay here in the capital if war with France were really declared. You cannot sympathize with us. But Raoul is the son of a German, and must do his duty as such. He was formerly unfit for service, now he is strong and well enough to act a soldier's part."

The words sounded calm, but iron in firmness. Hortense, however, was incapable of understanding her father-in-law,--she always would beat upon this rock although she knew she could not stir it. "You can free him from any necessity for such a part," she said, impetuously. "One word from you to the examining physician, a simple statement from General Steinrueck that he does not consider the weakness of his grandson's lungs yet overcome, and no one will venture----"

"To accuse him of falsehood? Assuredly not; but some one ventures, I find, to consider him capable of falsehood. I make allowance for you on account of your present agitation, Hortense, or----" His look completed the sentence.

Raoul had hitherto taken no part in a conversation in which his passionate interest was plain; now he advanced. "Grandfather, you know that I am no coward. You have often reproached me with rashness and foolhardiness, restraining me where I would have ventured, but you must see that I cannot take part in this conflict; my whole nature revolts at the idea of lifting my hand against my mother's country and her people."

"I cannot spare you this," Steinrueck declared, unmoved. "In such a case self-control must be exercised and duty must be done. But why waste words? It is a necessity to which you must both submit. Enough has been said."

"But I neither can nor will submit!" exclaimed the young Count in great agitation. "I have never served in the army, and shall not be called upon to do so now, unless you insist upon it. You mean to force me into this war with my other fatherland. I see but too clearly----"

He paused suddenly, the general's look was so stern and forbidding.

"I should suppose that you could have but _one_ fatherland. Are you to learn this now for the first time? You _must_ take part in this war; you must fight it out from first to last, that you may finally come to the consciousness of who you are. In the storm of battle, in the uprising of your entire nation, you may perhaps learn to know where you belong; you may find again your lost love of country. It is my sole, my last hope. As soon as war is declared you will enlist,--enlist immediately."

The tone was the same to which Raoul had always submitted, but now he burst forth in open rebellion: "Grandfather, do not goad me too far. You have always reproached me with having my mother's blood in my veins, and you are right. All that I knew of happiness and freedom in the sunny days of my youth belonged to France, and there alone does life seem to me really worth the living. Here, in cold, gray Germany, I have never felt at home. Every joy is doled out to me grudgingly here; the phantom of duty is always held up to me. Do not inexorably force me to choose. The result might be other than what you desire. I do not love your Germany; I never loved it; and, come what may, I will not fight against my France!"

"My Raoul,--I knew it!" cried Hortense, exultantly, extending her arms to him.

Steinrueck stood still, gazing at the pair. He had not looked for this. Raoul's fear of him had hitherto kept him within bounds; he had not dared to give utterance to his sentiments. These bounds were broken, and even the old Count's iron nature was shaken. His voice sounded strangely when he spoke again,--"Raoul, come here!"

The young man did not stir; he stayed beside his mother, who had thrown one arm around him as if to detain him. Thus they stood, hostile and defiant; but the general was not the man to endure such revolt beneath his roof.

"Did you not hear my command? I must repeat it, then: Come here to me!"

His tone and look once more exercised their old power. Raoul obeyed mechanically, as if yielding to an irresistible force.

"You will not fight?" said Steinrueck, seizing the young man's hand in a vice-like grasp. "That remains to be seen. I shall volunteer in your name, and once enlisted, you will be taught the meaning of discipline. You are aware of what awaits the soldier who disobeys, or--deserts. Hush! not a word!" he continued, as the young man started as if to protest against words so full of disgrace. "In spite of your threat, I bid you choose. And that you may not lavish too much admiration upon your son's courage, Hortense, I tell you what could not long be kept from you; Raoul's betrothal to Hertha is annulled, and by his own fault. For love of Frau von Nerac he has been false to the duty he owed to his betrothed."

"Raoul!" exclaimed the Countess, in utter dismay. The general slowly released his grandson's hand from his clasp and turned away.

"You must settle all that with him. I shall know how to avert the worse evil. I will see to it that the last of the Steinruecks is saved from the disgrace of betraying his fatherland as he has betrayed his betrothed."

With these words he left the room.

* * * * *

The discord in the Steinrueck family weighed heavily upon its members. Hortense left for Steinrueck, since the general insisted that one member at least of his household should follow his relative to the grave. He could not leave town himself, and political events might well account for Raoul's absence. But had Hortense also been absent the world would have suspected the family dissension, and she complied all the more readily with her father-in-law's desire on this occasion, since she still had some confidence in her personal influence with Hertha. In the stormy scene between Raoul and herself that preceded her departure, Michael's name had not been mentioned; she knew nothing of his relations with Hertha, or of his connection with the Steinruecks. In her mind Heloise von Nerac was the sole cause of the breach between the young people, and she still hoped that she should succeed in appeasing the offended girl, and in recovering for her son all that he had so wantonly sacrificed with Hertha's hand.

The general and his grandson had met but for a few moments in the twenty-four hours following their decisive interview, and these moments had been painful enough. At present the young man had gone to his friend Clermont's, determined to prove to his mother and grandfather that he was no longer a boy to be disposed of according to their pleasure. He found Heloise alone, and informed her of all that had taken place on the previous day, the passionate agitation of his manner showing how profoundly he had been moved.

"The die is cast," he concluded. "My betrothal with Hertha is at an end. I am as free as you are, and there is no longer any reason for concealment. Tell me at last, Heloise, that you consent to be mine, to bear my name. You have never yet really done so."

Heloise had listened in silence, and with a slight frown. It seemed almost as if this turn of affairs were an unwelcome one to her.

"Stay! not so fast, Raoul!" she said, in reply to his ardent words. "You acknowledge that your grandfather never will consent to our union, and you are entirely dependent upon him."

"For the moment. But I am his heir-at-law; nothing can affect that, as you know."

Heloise was quite aware of it, but she was also aware of how little the income to which the young Count would fall heir would comport with her requirements. The matter had been the subject of an exhaustive discussion, but a little while previously, between herself and her brother, and the picture that Henri had then so ruthlessly drawn, of the dull life of a retired provincial town, had little in it to allure a woman to whom luxury and splendour were as her vital air.

"Then let us hope for the future," she said. "The present is hostile enough to us. Not only your family dissensions, but political events threaten to part us."

"Part us? And wherefore?"

"Why, you must see that we cannot stay here if the war, which Henri thinks unavoidable, should really be declared. As soon as our ambassador leaves the capital we must go too. Henri tells me to be ready for a hasty departure."

"Then let Henri go, but stay yourself. I cannot let you go. I know that I ask a sacrifice of you, but remember what I have sacrificed for your sake. To lose you now would be too horrible! You must stay!"

"What should I stay for?" she asked, sternly. "To look on while the general carries out his threat, and sends you in full uniform to fight against France?"

Raoul clinched his fist. "Heloise, do not you too drive me to desperation. If you knew all that I have had, and yet have, to bear! My grandfather has scarcely spoken to me since yesterday, but his eyes, when he looks at me, make my blood boil, they are so full of scorn. My mother, from whom I have hitherto never known anything save love and tenderness, reproaches me bitterly. And now you talk of our parting, and I must brave it all alone. It is beyond endurance."

He did indeed look like a desperate man, and Heloise gazed at him with mingled pity and indignation. With all his gallantry, his reckless bravery, and his scorn of danger, he was but as a reed shaken by the wind when moral courage was in question.

"Must we be parted?" she asked, gently. "It is for you to decide that, Raoul."

He looked up surprised. "For me?"

"Certainly. I cannot stay any more than can Henri. We know that you are ours at heart, and that only compulsion keeps you among Germans. Break loose from your bonds, and follow us to France!"

"What madness!" exclaimed Raoul, springing to his feet. "Now, when war is imminent! It would be rank treachery!"

"No, it would be a bold, courageous step to take,--a fearless confession of the truth. If you stay here you are false to yourself as well as to others. What should you resign? A country where you always have been, and always must be, a stranger, circumstances that have become intolerable, and a grandfather with whom you are in open warfare. The only one whom you have to consider--your mother--may, indeed, grieve over the destruction of her schemes, but she never would grieve over such a step on your part."

"My name is Steinrueck," said Raoul, gloomily. "You seem to forget that, Heloise."

"Yes, that is your name, but you are a Montigny from head to heel. You have often boasted to us that this was so; why deny it now? Is your father's name to dictate to you what you must think and feel? Has not your mother's blood an equal right? It draws you in every fibre towards her land, to her people, and should the holiest force in nature be outraged and denied? They would compel you to fight against us. _That_ would be 'rank treachery,'--a use to which you never can allow yourself to be put."

Raoul had turned away; he would fain have been deaf to her words, but yet he drank them in eagerly. These were his own thoughts as they had besieged him day after day, refusing to be banished.

The only thing that could now be his safeguard he did not possess,--a sense of duty. Duty had always been to him a ghastly phantom, and thus it appeared to him now; but it possessed the power to appall.

"Hush, Heloise!" he said, hoarsely. "I must not listen,--nay, I will not listen. Let me go."

And in fact he turned as if to leave the room, but Heloise approached him and laid her hand upon his arm. Her voice was full of eloquent entreaty, and there was the soft veiled look in her eyes which he knew but too well.

"Come with us, Raoul. You will be consumed in this wretched struggle with yourself. It will be your ruin, and I--ah, do you think I can endure to part from you? that I shall suffer less than your mother in knowing you in the ranks of our foes? Follow us to France."

"Heloise, spare me!" The young Count made a desperate effort to escape; in vain. Sweeter and more alluring rang the tones from which he could not flee. The toils of the glittering serpent were thrown more and more closely around him.

"Ah, he will find means to bend you to his will, that inexorable old man. Escape from him before he makes good his threat. War is not yet declared. You are still free to act. Procure your leave from the Foreign Office, no matter under what pretext. When you are far away, when orders can no longer reach you----"

"Never! never!" exclaimed Raoul. He felt himself about to succumb, and his sense of honour, all of it that was left, revolted. His grandfather's image arose before him,--the 'inexorable old man' with scorn in his eyes. Once more it won the victory over the threatened loss of his love, once more it snatched him from danger.

"Never!" he repeated. "I could not live beneath such a burden, even beside you, Heloise. Farewell!"

He hurried to the door, where he encountered Henri Clermont, who had just returned from a walk, and who would have detained him.

"Whither so fast, Raoul? Have you not a moment to give me?"

"No!" the young Count gasped. "I must go on the instant. Farewell!"

He rushed away. Clermont looked after him, surprised, and then turned to his sister: "What ails the fellow? why is he in such desperate haste?"

"It is his reply to my suggestion that he should follow us to France," Heloise replied, in a deeply irritated tone. "You heard it. He bade me farewell."

Henri shrugged his shoulders. "He will be here again to-morrow. I should suppose you would be aware by this time of your power over him. He has resigned Hertha Steinrueck and a princely fortune for your sake. You he never will resign!"

* * * * *

The storm had burst: war was declared, and events followed one another with such rapidity that all personal considerations, all personal interests, were overwhelmed by them.

In the house occupied by the Marquis de Montigny everything was packed and ready for departure. He had remained to share the last cares of the Ambassador, and was now to leave the capital in a few hours. He seemed still to be awaiting some one, for from time to time he went to the window and looked out impatiently. At last the servant announced young Count Steinrueck, who instantly appeared.

Raoul looked unusually pale, and his air was strangely disturbed, but it passed unnoticed by his uncle; at that time every one was in a state of feverish agitation. He held out his hand to the young man.

"Did you get my note? I am just about to start, but I cannot go without a few words with you."

"I was coming, at all events, to bid you good-by," replied Raoul. "My mother will be inconsolable at the idea of not having taken leave of you."

"I must go back to Paris immediately," Montigny declared, with a shrug; "but your mother has written to me from Steinrueck, and it is of the contents of her letter that I wish to speak to you."

The young Count braced himself to meet what he knew was coming. Hortense, who had not been able to see her brother before leaving town, had poured out her heart to him by letter, and a tempest from this quarter was to be expected. In fact, the Marquis, without any circumlocution, went directly to the point:

"I hear that your betrothal to Hertha is annulled. It is impossible for me to understand how you could resign her, and I fear you will only too soon appreciate what you have lost. Still, after all, that is your own affair. But my sister writes me that you intend to marry the lady, Frau von Nerac, who has caused the breach, and she is in despair at the thought. I, however, assured her, in my letter of farewell, that she might be quite easy upon that point, that matters would never go so far."

"And why not?" Raoul burst forth. "Am I a child in leading-strings, to be dictated to? I am legally of age; you all seem to forget this; and in spite of all opposition Heloise is mine, and shall not be snatched from me."

There was more than mere obstinate determination in his words: they were uttered with a passionate recklessness that revealed the feverish agitation of the speaker so plainly that Montigny involuntarily softened his voice, and, taking his nephew's hand, drew him down to a seat beside him.

"First of all, Raoul, promise me to be more calm. If my mere hint is met by such excitement on your part, how can you endure the whole truth? Had I suspected that you were so deeply entangled I should have spoken long ago. The certainty of war does away with many of the considerations that hitherto have kept me silent. Nevertheless, I must ask you to give me your word that no one, not even your mother, shall learn what I am about to tell you."

His grave, calm words, in which there was a distinct tone of compassion, did not fail of their effect, but Raoul made no reply, and the Marquis continued:

"I threatened Clermont some months ago that if he did not withdraw from all intimacy with you I would open your eyes, and he was prudent enough to induce you from that time to conceal your relations with him. Hortense and I have both been deceived, but I shall not permit my sister's only son to fall a victim to such snares. You do not know who and what this Clermont is----"

"Uncle Leon," Raoul interrupted him, eagerly and with intense emotion, "do not go on, I entreat you. I do not wish to know. Spare me!"

Montigny looked at him in surprise and dismay. "You do not wish to know? You seem to be partly aware of what I would say, and still you could----"

"No, no, I do but suspect, and that only since yesterday. By chance--do not ask me----"

"Do you fear to have the bandage torn from your eyes?" Montigny asked, sternly. "Nevertheless, it must be done. You know Clermont and his sister only as private individuals, spending their time in travelling because their income does not suffice for a life in Paris suited to their inclinations. The purpose of their stay here is much less innocent. Their errand is a means of which every government must avail itself, but to which no man of honour can ever lend himself. Only those to whom any means for maintaining a superficial position in society is welcome ever accept such employment. That those thus engaged in this instance are really the scions of an ancient noble family only makes their trade the more disgraceful. I think you understand me."

Raoul did indeed seem to understand, although he made a hasty gesture of dissent. "You are speaking of Henri; you may be right, but Heloise is innocent,--she has no share in her brother's acts,--she knows nothing of them. Do not slander her; I will not believe you!"

"You must believe facts. I tell you, and I vouch for what I say, that in the 'instructions' given the brother and sister Frau von Nerac has the principal part to play, because as a woman she is less liable to be suspected, and in consequence has greater freedom of action. I can give you proofs, can tell you what amount has been paid----"

"No, no!" groaned Raoul. "For God's sake hush, or you will drive me mad!"

"She seems to have driven you mad indeed, or you never could have sacrificed Hertha to her," said Montigny, bitterly. "You were nothing but a tool in the hands of the pair, a key to open to them doors that would else have been closed against them. Through you they hoped for admission to military circles, perhaps even for information in diplomatic quarters. Hence Clermont forced his friendship upon you, and his sister played a part towards you which you unfortunately took for earnest, blindly falling into the trap thus laid. Surely you are now cured, and will think no more of marriage with a hired spy!"

Raoul winced at the word, then sprang up and hurried to the door. Montigny barred his way. "Where are you going?"

"In search of them!"

"Folly!" said the Marquis, detaining him. "Where would be the use? Contempt is the only punishment for such villany."

Raoul made no reply, but the pallid face which he turned towards his uncle wore an expression that startled the elder man. "What is the matter? This is not merely the anguish of betrayed affection; you are in mortal dread--of what? Tell me----"

"I cannot! Do not keep me here!" cried the young Count, releasing himself violently from his uncle's detaining hand and rushing from the room without a word of farewell.

Montigny looked after him with a dark frown. "What can this mean? I wish I had spoken before."

* * * * *

All was made ready for departure in the Steinrueck abode. The general was to join his corps on this very evening, while the young Count was to remain behind for a few days. He had on the previous day received orders to report to the military authorities. His grandfather, in this instance as always, had carried out his determination in spite of Raoul's opposition.

For the last few days the general had been so incessantly occupied that he had scarcely seen his grandson. On the previous evening he had attended a military council held for the last time before the departure of the army, and lasting far into the night. He reached home towards morning, and when, after a couple of hours of sleep, he again entered his study, all kinds of despatches and messages were awaiting him there, and through the forenoon one matter after another engaged his time and attention in addition to the arrangements for departure. It needed the old Count's iron strength of physical and mental constitution to meet the requirements of the hour.

It was noon when Captain Rodenberg made his appearance. He had been here on the previous day upon some military errand to the general, on which occasion another of his superior officers had been present, and the interview had been of an entirely formal nature. To-day also Michael's demeanour was in strict accordance with military rule, but instead of the message which the general expected to receive by him he said, "I have no message to deliver to your Excellency to-day, but the business that brings me here is of such importance that I must beg for an immediate hearing. Will you allow me to close the door, that we may not be interrupted?"

Steinrueck looked surprised at this strange prelude, and asked, "Is the affair in question connected with the service?"

"It is."

"Then close the door."

Michael complied, and then returned to his place. There was an agitation in his air which it evidently needed all his self-command to control, and which his voice betrayed as he said, "I delivered to your Excellency yesterday a document that was of the greatest importance. My orders were strict to give it to no one save yourself, and not to let it leave my hands except to place it in your Excellency's."

"Certainly, I received it from you. Were you aware of its contents?"

"I was, your Excellency. The paper was in my handwriting, as I acted as secretary during its composition. It concerns the initiative movements of the Steinrueck corps; of course my orders were strict as to its delivery."

"And I confirm that delivery; the paper is in my desk."

"Is it really there?"

"To what can this lead?" asked the general, sharply. "I tell you that I locked it up there with my own hands."

"And I pray your Excellency to convince yourself that it is still where you placed it. The immense importance of the matter must excuse my audacity. I willingly incur the reproach of presumption to be assured of the safety of this document."

Steinrueck shrugged his shoulders impatiently, but he took the key which he always carried about him and went to his writing-desk. The lock was a complicated one, and usually yielded with reluctance to the key. To-day the lid of the desk sprang open at a slight touch. The general changed colour.

"The desk has been broken into," Michael said, in a low voice, pointing to the key-hole, which showed evident signs of having been tampered with. "I thought so."

Steinrueck said not a word, nor did he waste an instant upon an examination of the papers that lay before him, and which were probably of little importance. He hurriedly pressed a spot in the wooden side of the desk, to all appearance identical with the rest of the partition, but which instantly slipped aside, revealing an ingeniously--constructed secret drawer, now, to Steinrueck's dismay, entirely empty.

"This is the work of a traitor!" the Count exclaimed, angrily. "No one except myself is aware of this secret drawer, or how to open it. Captain Rodenberg, what do you know of this robbery? You have some suspicion, some trace. Tell me!"

Michael was wont, in speaking to his superior officers, to be brief and to the point; to-day he departed from his rule and went into detail, as if to prepare his hearer for what was to come before it should be uttered.

"Late last evening I was sent, with a despatch that had just arrived, to the conference at which your Excellency was assisting. On my return I was obliged to pass by your house upon the garden side. As I turned the corner--it was about midnight--I saw a man disappear through the small door in the wall beside the grated iron gate. I should hardly have noticed his doing so--the servants probably had a right to use this entrance--had I not thought that I recognized the figure, although I saw it but for a moment beneath the light of the street-lamp."

"And who did you think it was?" the general asked, with intense eagerness.

"The brother of Frau von Nerac,--Henri Clermont."

"Clermont? I always have considered him as an adventurer, and have closed my doors against him. You are right: his appearance on that spot at that hour was more than suspicious. Did you not follow up the clue?"

"I did, your Excellency, but it ended where all was above suspicion--or, at least, seemed to be so."

He laid significant emphasis upon the last words, but Steinrueck paid no heed; he insisted, impatiently, "Go on! go on!"

"' I tried to persuade myself that I had been mistaken, and walked on, but the matter left me no rest. I turned after a while, and as I walked around the house I noticed a strange light in your Excellency's study; it was not the light of a lamp, but like that of a solitary candle burning at the farther end of the room. It might well be accident, but, my suspicions roused by the sight of Clermont, I determined to have the matter explained at all hazards. I rang the bell, and told the servant that in passing I had observed a singular light in the study, which might possibly proceed from the beginning of a fire, and advised his seeing to it immediately. The man was startled, and hurried away, returning after a few moments, however, to inform me that I was mistaken; he begged pardon, but there was only a single candle burning in the room, and there was no one there except----"

"Well? Why hesitate? Go on! Who was there?"

"Count Raoul Steinrueck."

The general's face was ghastly pale, and his breath came short and quick as he said, "My grandson--here?"

"Yes, your Excellency."

"At midnight?"

"At midnight."

A long pause ensued; neither man spoke. The eyes of the old Count looked strangely fixed; the dim, dark foreboding that had once before assailed him again emerged from the gloom and took on shape and form. But this dark presage faded; he collected himself and repelled the horrible thought.

"Then we must apply to Raoul," he said, regaining his composure. "I will send for him."

"The Count is not at home," interposed Michael.

"Then he is at the Foreign Office; I will send there instantly. This matter must be cleared up; there is not a minute to lose."

He stretched out his hand towards the bell, but suddenly paused, encountering Rodenberg's glance. There must have been something terrible in the young man's eyes, for the general slowly withdrew his outstretched hand and said, in a low tone, "What is it? Out with it!"

"I have bad news for you, Count Steinrueck,--news hard to bear; you must prepare for the worst."

The general passed his hand across his forehead and gazed as if spell-bound at the speaker. "The worst? Where is Raoul?"

"Gone!--to France!"

Steinrueck did not start, did not even exclaim. He put his hand to his heart without a word, and would have fallen if Michael had not supported him as he sank into a seat.

Several minutes passed thus. Michael stood silent beside the arm-chair, where the Count leaned back half unconscious. The young officer felt that any word, any offer of help, would be useless. At last he stooped over him.

"Your Excellency!"

There was no reply. The general seemed to know nothing of what was around him.

"Count Steinrueck!"

Still the same distressing silence. The Count leaned back motionless, his eyes gazing into vacancy, his labouring breath the only sign that he still lived.

"Grandfather!"

The word came gently and with hesitation from the lips that had resolved never to utter it, but it was spoken, and it dissolved the old man's icy torpor. Steinrueck started, and suddenly buried his face in his hands.

"Grandfather, look at me!" Michael at last broke forth. "Break this fearful silence; say at least one word to me."

Obeying as if mechanically, the general dropped his hands and looked up at the young man. "Michael," he groaned, "you are avenged!"

It was indeed a Nemesis. Upon this very spot the son, tortured by the disgrace of his father's memory, had declared to his pitiless grandfather, "Your scutcheon is not so lofty and unimpeachable as the sun in the heavens; a day may come when it will wear a stain that you cannot efface, and then you will feel what an implacable judge you have been." The day had come, and had felled at one stroke the mighty old oak that had defied so many tempests.

"Courage!" said Michael. "You must not succumb now. Remember what is at stake. We must devise some plan."

It was the right appeal to make. The thought of the peril that menaced him roused the general from his dull despair. He arose, at first with difficulty, but as he stood once more erect he seemed to recover his self-possession.

"If I could but overtake the scoundrel! With my own hands I would force him--but there is no time. The hour is fixed for my arrival at headquarters."

"Then send me," interposed Michael. "Orders from my general in relation to a secret and important mission will relieve me from all other duty. Railway travel is obstructed and delayed everywhere by the transportation of troops; it takes double time to make even a short journey. My uniform and your orders will place every military train at my disposal; I shall overtake Raoul this side of the border."

"Then you know which way he has gone?"

"Yes, and I have kept trace of the Clermonts also. I would not, I could not give utterance to a suspicion founded upon mere possibilities so long as proof was lacking, and I was upon duty from which I was relieved only an hour ago, when I hurried to Clermont's lodgings. He had departed with his sister, and by the South German line, as being the swiftest. I drove directly to that station, which was thronged with troops for transportation. The morning train had already left, the mid-day train was just ready to depart. How far it could go and what delays it might encounter could not be foreseen. As I was speaking with an official I saw Raoul on the other side of the platform, alone and hurrying along beside the carriages, in which he seemed to be searching for some one. Suddenly the final signal was given, he tore open the first door at hand, entered the train, and was whirled away. I could not overtake him, the breadth of the railway-station was between us, but I hurried to the office to learn for what point the last single passenger had purchased his ticket, and was told for Strasburg."

The general leaned heavily upon the back of the arm-chair by which he stood as he listened to this hasty report, but he lost not a syllable of it; and at the last word, which might well have crushed him, he stood erect again with much of his old vigour.

"You are right. There is still a chance of overtaking him." He did not mention Raoul's name. "If any one can come to the rescue it is you, Michael! This I know. Recover the papers from him, living--or dead!"

"Grandfather!" exclaimed the young officer, recoiling.

"On my head be the consequences. You shall be scathless. I once required you to spare my blood flowing in the veins of each of you,--now I tell you not to spare the traitor. Wrest his booty from him,--you know what is at stake,--wrest it from him, living or dead!"

The words were terrible, and more terrible still was the expression in the old man's eyes, gleaming with no ray of pity, but filled with the iron resolution of the inexorable judge. It was plain that he would have sacrificed his grandson, the heir of his name, who had once been so dear to his heart, without the quiver of an eyelash.

"I shall do my duty," Michael said, in an undertone that, nevertheless, had in it an echo of that other voice.

The general went to his writing-table and took up a pen; his hand trembled and almost refused to perform its duty, but he controlled the weakness and wrote a few lines, which he handed to the captain.

"I trust everything to you, Michael. Go! Perhaps you will succeed in saving me from the worst. If I hear nothing from you in the course of the next twenty-four hours I must speak, and must declare the last Steinrueck----"

He could not finish the sentence; his voice broke, but he grasped Michael's hand in a convulsive clasp. The repudiated son of the outcast daughter was to be the saviour of the honour of the family; he was the old Count's last, sole hope, and the young man answered the clasp of his hand,--

"Rely upon me, grandfather! Have you not said that I can do all that can be done? You shall hear from me at your head-quarters. Farewell!"

* * * * *

The confusion and bustle reigning in the South-German railway-station at E---- had increased incredibly, for the comparatively insignificant little town was the point of meeting of three railway lines, and lay in the direct road to the Rhine. Trains for the transportation of troops were running day and night, and the town itself was crowded with soldiers.

Some hundred paces from the station there was a third-rate inn, usually frequented by peasants only, and certainly no fit stopping-place for the strangers who had reached it an hour previously,--a young lady, apparently of high rank, accompanied by an elderly priest and a servant. The apartment to which they had been shown was neither comfortable nor clean, and yet it was the only shelter that they could find.

The lady, who sat at a table leaning her head upon her hand, was in mourning, and looked very grave and pale, although this in no wise detracted from the beauty of the face beneath her crape veil. The priest was seated opposite her at the table, and had just said, "I am afraid we must stay here for a while; your servant has searched the entire town: all the hotels are overcrowded, and various private mansions are occupied by strangers. You might perhaps endure this house for a night, but any longer stay would be impossible for you, Countess Hertha."

"But why?" asked Hertha, calmly. "We shall have no choice to-morrow either, and at a time like the present we must yield to necessity."

The priest of St. Michael, for it was he, looked in amazement at the petted young Countess, now so ready to content herself with accommodations that would under other circumstances have been indignantly rejected by her.

"But there really was no necessity," he observed. "Michael wrote expressly that he could not be here with his regiment until the day after to-morrow, and that he would telegraph you beforehand. Until then we might have stayed quietly in Berkheim."

Hertha shook her head. "Berkheim is full four leagues away. The orders might be changed, the telegram might be delayed, and then I should be too late. Only here on the spot can I be sure of the time of the arrival of the regiment. Do not blame me, your reverence! I must bid Michael farewell; when he is going perhaps to death, even the bare possibility of missing him is terrible!"

Valentin did not look inclined to blame her, but he marvelled at the dominion which Michael exercised over the proud, wayward girl.

"I am thankful that I was able to come with you," said he. "The pastor of Tannberg was quite ready to send me his chaplain to take my place for a while, and I can conduct you back to Berkheim."

Hertha gratefully held out her hand to him. "I have no one but you! My guardian is angry with me, as I foresaw that he would be. He never even answered my letter, and Aunt Hortense was so furious when she learned of my betrothal to Michael, that I could not possibly remain a day longer at Steinrueck, loath as I was to leave my mother's grave so soon. I am grieved to have caused your reverence so much trouble and exertion. I am afraid that your accommodations are even worse than mine."

"For the present I have a room upon the ground-floor which certainly is not very inviting," said Valentin, smiling, "but the host has promised me for the night the gable-room in the upper story, since the strangers now occupying it will leave by the evening train. The time for its departure is at hand; I will go and attend to matters."

He left the room, and Hertha walked to the window, which she opened wide. The day had been very hot, and the evening brought no refreshment; the air was sultry and oppressive. Not a star was visible in the clouded heavens, and on the distant horizon there was from time to time a gleam of lightning, unveiling the dim mountain-range. Near at hand sparkled the lights of the railway-station, and close to the house the river rushed, seeming to emerge from the darkness only to be lost in it again. The ripple and dash of its waters were the only signs of its existence.

The young Countess leaned her glowing forehead against the window-frame, resolving to be steadfast and brave. Michael should see no grief that could make departure harder for him; but now that she was alone she could weep her fill. Her sense of loss in her mother's death, the pain occasioned by the strife with her family, all faded in her anguish for the lover whom perhaps she had won only to lose again forever.