a shake of the head. "I am one of those human beings who can give or
receive nothing more in this world; life was over for me long ago. But
you are right, it is better for me not to discuss this matter with
Wallmoden, for if I gave him my opinion--but he is and ever will be a
diplomat."

The conversation was over and Adelheid rose and said in her usual quiet
tone:

"And now shall I show you to your room? You must be fatigued after your
long journey."

"No indeed, I'd be a poor soldier to be worn out by a night's travel. In
the service something else is expected from us."

He bore no marks of fatigue; as he stood, broad and tall before her, his
muscles and sinews seemed made of steel, it was only the face which was
old and haggard. The eyes of the young wife followed him thoughtfully as
he again paced the room. She noted the furrowed forehead, so high and
broad under the white hair. It seemed to her she had seen it somewhere
else, only the locks were dark and curly, and beneath the brow were
strange, large eyes, which illumined a face of southern beauty. But
surely the forehead on which she gazed was strangely like that across
which the sudden wave of passion had passed on that memorable day of the
hunt, even to the deep-set blue veins which stood out so prominently in
the temples. It was a strange, unaccountable, fascinating resemblance.

A few hours later the two old friends were seated together in
Wallmoden's private study. The host had dreaded this hour, but now the
tale was told and the impression which it made on the Colonel anything
but what his host had expected. He had told of Rojanow's sudden
appearance at Fuerstenstein, of the sensation which his drama had created
in the city, of his wandering life with his mother during past years,
and of Zalika's death. Falkenried had leaned back in the chair, his arm
resting on the window sill, and listened to the whole long story without
movement of form or feature, without a question, without a comment; he
hardly seemed to hear, he was indeed made of stone.

"I believe it is right to tell you all this now," concluded the
ambassador. "Hitherto I have not troubled you with the knowledge which
has come to me from time to time, but now you must learn all I have to
tell and how the land lies."

The Colonel did not change his position, and his voice betrayed no
emotion as he replied: "I thank you for your good intentions, but you
could have spared yourself the trouble