Eugen bit his lips.
"I must say you are very--sincere."
"And you have forgotten how to hear the truth. I cannot refrain from telling it you frankly."
Reinert drew himself up angrily, his vanity would not bear a reproach, the justice of which he nevertheless felt; he was on the point of answering hastily, but Hermann turned away suddenly from him, and looked with strained attention towards the door, which opened at this instant. A triumphant smile quivered round his lips, he had not led Eugen into this ante-room for nothing. He well knew who must pass through it, to fetch the children to their lessons, the former being generally with their mother at this hour--this first meeting must and should be watched.
Eugen, too, had turned his head, but he all at once sprang up and became deathly pale, stretching out his arms as if against a spectre, and with a cry of fright, exclaimed--
"Gertrud!"
It was, indeed, Gertrud who stood upon the threshold. She knew what awaited her to-day, but she was unprepared for a meeting at this moment, and here. She, too, turned pale, and made a movement as if to fly, but her eyes met Hermann's, which rested upon her face as if he would read her inmost soul. The girl's foot seemed suddenly rooted to the spot; she drew herself up, and returned the glance proudly and coldly. And there was something in her look which was nobler than defiance, and mightier than hate; he saw how a deep red flush rose into her countenance, whilst she met his steadfast glance, but her eyes did not sink. They stood thus for some seconds, then the Count suddenly turned away, Gertrud closed the door behind her, and with firm steps passed by the two gentlemen, disappearing into the neighbouring apartment.
Hermann clenched his hand angrily.
"Unbending! I knew it! This girl cannot be humiliated; did she not almost compel my eyes to quail before her?"
Eugen, who had stood during the whole scene as if rooted to the spot, now seemed to come to his senses.