“You will do nothing of the sort,” I said, authoritatively, seeing that she rose to depart. “The General is dead, Rudolf civilly dead, and I am consequently, in the eyes of the law, your nearest male relation. Therefore I forbid your entering this abyss, from whence no one ever rises again, in the flower of your age.”
“What am I to do?” she cried passionately, yet with an accent of submission in her tone.
“You have simply to return to the Werve,” I answered, “where you will find a friend actively preparing for your reception.”
“A friend!” she repeated, in astonishment.
“Yes, Rolf; who is to stay there until further orders. Don’t be afraid—I shall not importune you with my presence, for I am going to travel.”
This latter declaration seemed to make a great impression on her. She regarded me with a strange kind of look, and replied in a tone of voice which betrayed something more than pride and anger—
“In very sooth, Leopold, you are going to travel? Well, then, I will stay at the Werve. Farewell.”
And she escaped from the room quickly, shutting the door after her. We soon heard the pawing of her horse outside, and we trusted she would ride back to the Castle.
“Ought I not to follow her?” Rudolf inquired of me.
“No; any mistrust on our part would offend her.”