"I meant," said he sharply, "that the education, which separates you from those people, is quite as wide a cleft. Have you really such sympathy for these dull-witted, degraded people?"
"I sympathise with any one who is oppressed and miserable."
"Really?"
Meanwhile they had reached the inn, the young girl bowed slightly, and laid her hand upon the latch, but Hermann anticipated her. He opened the door for her, and followed her into the inn.
She stopped and looked at him repellantly and with surprise, it was easy to see she did not wish to continue the conversation. But in spite of this the Count went on.
"Really?" repeated he, and added in rather an irritated tone, "it seems to me that you imply that I am one of the oppressors. I hope you don't credit me with having seen the child, and purposely driven on."
"No, but you must have seen all the children. Why did you not turn out of the way for them?"
"For the village children!" cried the young Count, with such unconcealed astonishment that one could see the thought had never entered his head. "I ought to drive out of the way of my uncle's labouring people?"
The proposal seemed to him evidently unheard of, and the young stranger was on the point of answering, but suddenly stopped and leaned forward, listening attentively. A half stifled cry of delight escaped her lips; she involuntarily raised her arms, and was on the point of hurrying away, when she suddenly remembered Hermann's presence. A deep flush suffused her countenance, she let her arms fall and remained where she was, as if rooted to the ground. The Count had followed the direction of her eyes, and now saw the cause of this sudden change. Eugen Reinert, who, after a hasty question in the passage, strode hastily into the room without observing his friend.
"Gertrud! Um Gotteswillen, you here!"