"You really mean it, then?" continued the Count, adding energetically. "Well, I must say I should not have expected it of you!"
"I cannot understand," began Eugen, irritated at his friend's scornful tone, "how you can judge my intentions so severely. Was it not you who urged me against this match from the first, and continually drove me to break it off, and almost forced me to make a declaration to Antonie? I, at least, have suffered in the conflict, but you are one of those ice-natures who stride on, indifferent to the joy or sorrow of others, not troubling whether hearts are broken or not. You know you have openly confessed to these unscrupulous principles, how is it, then, that you have changed all at once, and argue just the opposite, and condemn me because I follow your example?"
Hermann was silent a moment--did his conscience convict him? There was truth enough in what he said, and this was proved, since, for once, Count Arnau was in want of an answer, but in a moment he replied with perfect calmness--
"You are mistaken! I was averse to this match, and am still, because I see no good for your future in it. That you must break off this match I still think, but our opinions differ as to the way in which it is to be done. I am regardless, unscrupulous, when an important end to be gained is at stake, there you are right, and I suppose in this case, I should actually have broken the girl's heart; but to invent excuses in order to hide what she must discover eventually, pretend I was the victim of a cruel fate, and thus knit a tissue of falsehoods of all kinds about the matter--that Eugen, I would not do, for to tell you the truth, I think such a proceeding pretty cowardly."
"Hermann!" burst out Eugen.
"Don't be absurdly sensitive," said the Count, authoritatively, "it is out of place here. I have told you my opinion frankly, now do what you like. By-the-by, I think the storm is coming on, I must go back to the Castle. I suppose you are on the way to the village, adieu!"
Eugen did not answer, he turned away and walked off angrily without any word of greeting. Hermann shrugged his shoulders, he knew his friend's temper, and also knew it would not last long. Such scenes were not of unfrequent occurrence between them. Reinert, after such a one, usually played the part of an injured person, but ended generally by leaning to his friend's superior wisdom.
Meanwhile the sky had grown darker and darker, the wind rose and whistled in the tops of the trees. Graf Arnau glanced at the clouds, and turned towards the Schloss. Just then the wind, with a sudden gust, blew aside the neighbouring bushes, and something glimmered amongst them like a woman's dress. Struck with a sudden presentiment, Hermann stopped and peered sharply through the bushes, nothing could be made out distinctly, but he strode a few steps forward, and the next moment stood before Gertrud Walter.
The girl had sunk on her knees, her head against the root of a great tree, her face hidden in both hands. By no sound had she betrayed herself, but she had broken down at the sudden news, which had come upon her unexpectedly like a flash of lightning. Hermann only needed to stand there an instant, in order to understand and feel how fearfully humiliating his presence would be to her at this moment. For an instant he looked down at her silently, then turned and walked away as quietly and quickly as he had come.
But after walking a few steps, he stopped and looked back. She lay as still and motionless as a statue--perhaps she had fainted--perhaps--the Count had not decided within himself what common humanity and compassion demanded in this case, before he again stood at her side.