"I shall most assuredly do so, my dear Count," said the Assessor; adding, "Justice demands it, and I could not do otherwise, for a love of justice is one of my characteristics. I make no boast of it, for the gifts of nature are various; but so it is, and I am indebted to you for your information with regard to the old Baron von Hohenwald, while I await with eagerness what you have to tell of the son, Baron Arno."
"You will have occasion to modify your judgment of him also, for, in spite of some eccentricities, Arno is one of the best and noblest of men. You have already laid perhaps more than sufficient stress upon the faults which prevent mere acquaintances from rightly estimating his excellence. There is nothing, therefore, for me to do but to explain how he came to share his father's eccentricity and to withdraw himself from society."
"He is a woman-hater, then?" Adèle asked, curiously.
"I cannot exactly contradict you. He shuns the sex for the fault of an individual, but I am sure you will judge him gently when you hear his story. I told you just now that he was a silent and reserved officer. One of our regiment who had been with him at school described him to me as the merriest of lads, always ready for any school-boy prank. But the separation of his parents seems to have made a profound impression upon him, destroying in him all the joyousness and geniality of youth. After his mother's return to her father, Baron von Hohenwald recalled Arno to Hohenwald from school in Dresden, and engaged as tutor for him the pastor of the village, a very earnest and learned man. Thus the boy grew up sharing his father's solitude; perhaps his father confided to him the cause of his lonely life; certain it is that never during our years of intimacy has Arno mentioned to me his mother's name. His relations with his father were most intimate and affectionate. Whatever cause the old Baron had for repudiating his wife, his anger was never visited upon her children. To them he has always been the most kind and indulgent of parents,--even to Arno's elder brother, who was much more of a stranger to him than the others, since he, Werner, was already a student in the university when Arno was recalled from school. The visits to Castle Hohenwald of the elder son, who embraced a diplomatic career, have been of necessity infrequent, so that naturally his father's heart does not cling to him as to the constant inmates of his household.
"His solitary life at Hohenwald fostered in Arno a love of retirement, which was manifest during his military life in Dresden, whither he went to join the army, by his father's desire, at the conclusion of his studies. He would have preferred to embrace one of the learned professions, but his father's wish was his law in this respect; and he made a capital officer, gaining both the respect and the esteem of his comrades and his superiors. He took lodgings in the house of a rope-maker, and, as he spent all his evenings at home, only leaving it to fulfil his military duties, he saw more of his hostess and her pretty daughter than would otherwise have been the case. The daughter, Rosalie, a young girl of sixteen, had been educated for a teacher, and her associates at school had taught her the air and bearing of a higher social rank than her own. How could a young man, who knew nothing of society and the world, fail to be attracted by a girl of extraordinary beauty and a fair degree of culture, and with manners far above those of her class? How could he suspect the utter want of moral training beneath so fair an exterior, or dream of the arts that were practised to attract him? You spoke, Herr von Hahn, of a 'love-affair with the pretty daughter of a rope-maker;' a very grave 'love-affair' it was for Arno, for he asked the girl in marriage of her parents, and of course received from them a glad consent to his wishes. Not only this, but, to the extreme surprise of Rosalie's parents, the old Baron von Hohenwald did not refuse to sanction the marriage. When Arno went to Hohenwald to tell his father of his betrothal, the old man was naturally enough dismayed at the prospect of such a misalliance. He represented to his son all the consequences of so fatal a step, the disapproval it would meet with in all quarters, the annihilation of all prospect of advancement in his profession, the scandal it would cause in aristocratic circles. But when Arno declared that his word was pledged, and that nothing would induce him to recall it, his father withdrew all opposition. He consented to the union, though he refused point-blank to repair to Dresden to see his son's betrothed, declaring that he should have time enough to make her acquaintance after the marriage.
"In Dresden the betrothal made a most disagreeable talk; Arno's comrades were beside themselves; they adjured him to resign all thoughts of the girl, hinting that she was quite unworthy of the sacrifice he was making for her. All that they said was to no purpose, however; and in several cases Arno was with difficulty prevented from calling to a bloody account those who dared to remonstrate with him. The colonel of our regiment, by advice from very high quarters, called upon Lieutenant von Hohenwald, but his representations availed nothing against my friend's obstinacy. Arno professed himself ready to request his dismissal from the army, but not to break his plighted faith. This offer on his part would doubtless have been accepted but that war with Prussia was imminent, and the services of so brave an officer as Arno von Hohenwald could not be spared. It was therefore intimated that the royal consent to his marriage would be accorded him provided he would accede to the king's wish that it should be postponed for a year. To this condition he consented, although the pretty Rosalie pouted and sighed, and her father and mother were quite indignant at the delay.
"During the short campaign that now took him from Dresden, Arno wrote frequently to his betrothed, without, however, receiving a word in reply, a circumstance for which his trusting nature found abundant explanation in the irregularity of the Bohemian postal arrangements. At Königgratz he was severely wounded; indeed, the newspapers reported him killed, and as such they mourned him for weeks at Castle Hohenwald. Meanwhile, he was lying unconscious in the hospital. I was in the same ward with him, only slightly wounded, however; I was soon sufficiently recovered to go to Dresden, on leave, to regain my strength there. When I left Arno his condition was still very critical; in one of his intervals of consciousness he sent a message by me to his betrothed, which I of course made it my duty to deliver as soon as possible. I found only the mother at home when I paid my visit to the rope-maker's, and she shocked and disgusted me by the want of feeling she displayed upon hearing that Arno was not dead, as had been supposed, but only dangerously wounded. She even appeared glad to learn that, in the event of his recovery, it must be months at least before he could come to Dresden. On the same day, however, all that was strange in her behaviour was fully explained to me by the physician whom I consulted with regard to my wound, and who had been a fellow-lodger of Arno's and his warm friend. As such he felt it his duty to acquaint me, the poor fellow's most intimate friend, with the wretched story that so closely concerned him, and that filled me with consternation and disgust. Arno had been infamously deceived both by his betrothed and by her parents, whose sole thought had been how to enrich themselves at whatever expense of honour and honesty. Some time before her betrothal to Arno, Rosalie had been secretly under the protection of a wealthy manufacturer in Dresden, her connection with whom, when the report of Arno's death seemed to her to free her from the necessity for concealment, became a day's theme for public gossip. She flaunted her disgrace abroad, meeting with no opposition from her parents in her downward career. There is no need to dwell upon the details of this miserable business; the investigations I felt it my duty to my friend to prosecute fully confirmed the physician's story. This being the case, what was I to do? Of course, I ought to acquaint Arno with the facts I had learned, and yet the knowledge of them might kill him in his present precarious state. I needed advice in the matter, and I turned for it to my friend's father. I wrote to him telling him all, begging him to come to Dresden to receive personal confirmation of the truth of what I wrote, and offering, if he desired it, to go immediately to Arno and inform him of his betrothed's worthlessness. I supposed that the Baron would reply to my letter in person, but he did not come to Dresden; by return of post I received a letter from him, expressing heart-felt gratitude to me. 'I need,' he wrote, 'no further confirmation: it is for my son to investigate this matter. Of course he will not condemn his betrothed without hearing her in her own defence. I suffer greatly from the gout, and cannot come to Dresden; besides, I do not think myself justified in forestalling my son in this matter.' He then begged me to fulfil my promise to go to Arno as soon as possible and tell him all. 'Do not be afraid,' he said, in conclusion, 'that you will retard my son's recovery in thus performing your duty as his friend. We Hohenwalds come of a tough stock, and know how to bear pain; it may perhaps bend, but it will not break us. Believe me when I tell you this.'
"He was right, as I found when a few days later, sitting at Arno's bedside, and finding him quite himself again, I tried to prepare him gently for what I had to say. He perceived instantly that I was the messenger of evil tidings, and briefly and firmly bade me speak out and tell him all that was to be told. I did so, and he listened in gloomy silence, with downcast eyes, asking no question, giving no sign, except the convulsive clinching of the hand that lay on the coverlet, of the storm of emotion raging within him. When I had finished, he looked up with eyes that seemed to read my very soul. 'I do not thank you,' he said. 'I cannot tell, before I have seen and learned for myself, whether you have rendered me the greatest service that one friend can render to another, or whether I must call you to account as my mortal foe. Until then we must part. Leave me now. I shall soon seek you out in Dresden, either to thank or----'
"I tried to soothe him, but he repulsed me sternly, and I returned to Dresden without seeing him again. His surgeon informed me that he considered his condition very alarming, that he feared the worst, and that at all events it must be months before he could leave the hospital. So I left him, filled with remorse for having followed the old Baron's advice; but scarcely four weeks had passed when one day Arno entered my room in Dresden. He looked terribly,--his dark eyes gleamed with unnatural brilliancy in his wasted countenance, his right arm was in a sling, while, although he supported himself upon a stout cane, he could scarcely stand. When I hurried towards him he sank, half fainting, into my arms, and I carried rather than led him to a lounge. He pressed my hand, and, as soon as he could speak, said, 'I thank you; you told me nothing but the truth, and yet not all the truth. You have saved me from a horrible fate, and I never will forget it. Add still further to my obligations to you by granting me one request: I entreat you never, never again to make the faintest allusion to that wretched girl.' I promised, and since that day not one word with regard to her has passed Arno's lips. How he parted from her I never knew. He had spent two days in ascertaining the truth of the story I had told him, and then came to my room, which it was long before he left again. His strength of will had sustained him until his purpose was fulfilled, and then he was utterly prostrated. For many a night I watched by his bed, hopeless as to his recovery, but in the end his vigorous constitution conquered. The old Baron was right.
"During his convalescence we often discussed our plans for the future. We both resolved to send in our resignations. I spare you our reasons for this course of action, for I know that you, my dear Assessor, are one of Prince Bismarck's most enthusiastic supporters, and that my lovely cousin Adèle, as the daughter of a Prussian official high in rank, could hardly appreciate the feeling that made it impossible for us to continue in the army after peace was concluded. Arno's political opinions so closely coincided with my own that our plans for the future were the same. For him, as for me, it was simply impossible to accept office under government, and so we determined to withdraw altogether from public life, to study the management of estates and to find our calling in the future in administering our own.