The man lingered an instant longer, then with another bow to Toinette,
slowly retreated.

"I will inform His Excellency," he said on the threshold, "that the
young lady had no time to answer the Herr Count's letters, because she
had gentlemen visitors."

Edwin closed the door behind him. They heard the fellow laugh loudly
and joke with Jean as he went away, as if nothing had happened.

A death-like silence pervaded the little drawing room. The beautiful
girl sat motionless on the sofa, with her eyes fixed upon the fatal
letter, which still lay unopened on the table, and her pale hands
folded in her lap. Edwin stood at the door, his hand still raised in
the threatening gesture with which he had motioned the insolent fellow
to leave the room. Not until he heard the outer door close, did he
suddenly move, as if he had shaken off an incubus, and quietly
approached the silent Toinette.

"Will you have the kindness to explain this scene, Fraeulein?" he asked
in a voice from which every trace of agitation seemed to have vanished.
As she did not immediately reply, he continued:

"May I hope that you will introduce me to this count, who apparently
has some right to compel you to read his letters?"

She was still silent. At last she timidly raised her eyes and gazed at
him beseechingly. The look penetrated to his inmost soul.

"If I beg you to ask me no farther questions, to trust me as before--"

"I should not refuse your request," he answered dejectedly, "but I
should take leave of you at once--never to return."

"And why?"

"Because I do not desire to visit in any house in the capacity of a
guest, without knowing who is the head of it. I do not wish to expose
myself to the possibility of having the master instead of the servant,
appear before me someday, and hearing that it does not suit his
pleasure that you--should receive gentlemen visitors."

She seemed to reflect a moment.

"You're right, my friend," she now answered. "I owe it to you to
explain all this, or rather I owe it to myself. What must you think of
me? But I will not relate this long and sorrowful story to-day, or here
in this place. Besides, your visit has already been greatly prolonged;
it will soon be dark. Come to the gold-fish pond in the Thiergarten,
where the statue stands, at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. It's very
lonely there then; I've often sat under the trees with a book at that
hour and not see three people pass. In that spot