nly and
ruthlessly despoiled of its purity and its charm, and in its place came
the desolating conviction that she whom he had trusted and followed had
been his destruction.

"I would have protected you from the poisonous atmosphere of such an
influence," continued Falkenried. "Fool that I was! Even without her
persuasion you were lost to me. You had your mother's features, and it
was her blood which flowed in your veins, and sooner or later you were
bound to come to your own. You became what you are--a homeless
adventurer who knows neither fatherland nor honor!"

"That is too much!" cried Hartmut, almost wild now. "I will not be so
insulted by any one, not even by you. I see now that no reconciliation
between us is possible. I will go, but the world will judge otherwise
than you. It has already crowned me, and I will force from it the
recognition which my own father denies me."

The colonel looked at his son, and there was something frightful in his
glance; then he said, slowly and distinctly, in his icy tone:

"Better be careful that the world does not learn that the 'laurel
crowned poet' was suborned in Paris for over two years--as a spy."

Hartmut started back as though shot.

"I? in Paris? you must be out of your mind."

Falkenried shrugged his shoulders contemptuously:

"Still acting a comedy? you need give yourself no trouble; I know all.
Wallmoden laid before me the proofs of the game which Zalika Rojanow and
her son played in Paris. I know the sources from which the money came on
which you lived after she had lost her fortune. She was greatly sought
after for her peculiar accomplishments, for she was very skillful. He
who paid the highest price--secured her services!"

Hartmut was completely overwhelmed.

This then was the solution of Wallmoden's riddle. He had not understood
the ambassador, and had thought his insinuations of a different nature.

He could understand his mother's hypocrisy now, her evasions, her kisses
and flatteries when he pressed her with questions. This last was indeed
the worst of all--and the last vestige of respect for her who had borne
him died within him as he listened to his father's recital.

The silence which ensued was awful. It continued for several minutes,
and when Hartmut spoke again his voice seemed to have lost all sound,
and the words came brokenly--scarcely audibly--from his lips:

"And you believe that I--that I--knew it?"

"I do," the colonel answered shor