The Count's eyes took a rapid survey of the room; it had only one entrance, and that, he knew, was well guarded; nevertheless his voice sank to a whisper as if he did not dare to trust the secret even to dead walls.
"That morning I was in my father's business room; I seldom went into it, this time it was childish disobedience which took me there. The day before my father had taken away a book which he thought unsuitable for me; but my childish fancy was so much excited by the adventurous story that I was determined to know the end of it. The book lay in his business room; I knew this, and seized the first opportunity to get possession of it. Scarcely had this happened before voices were heard in the corridor; conscious that I had done wrong, I flew with my book into a deep corner of the bay window, thinking that I should not be there more than a few minutes, for my father was accustomed to drive out at this hour. But this time he came in with your father. On account of the sun the drawn curtain concealed me completely, and thus I was a witness of a conversation, of which, at that time, I understood almost nothing, but which, nevertheless, on account of its fearful termination, was impressed upon my mind with terrible clearness. What I heard at first was unimportant; the talk was confined entirely to business matters. My father must already have made some demand of Herr Brand which he now repeated, but which, however, was most decidedly refused by him. Brand represented that he had already paid to the Count the sum due to him, and, without special authority from the Prince, could not give out any of the money entrusted to his charge, for which he was of course responsible. My father must have seen that he was lost, must have known no other way of escape, for he chose the most dangerous plan of all, and made his inferior his confidant. He confessed to him that he had already employed the sum received for the payment of personal debts, but that the expenses of the Prince's household now needed reimbursement, and that immediately, if all was not to be discovered. He strove to persuade the steward to give him sufficient for this from the balance remaining, promising that all should be returned in a few weeks. The Count swore to take all upon himself, he entreated, he promised, he at last threatened, but promises as well as threats were lost upon the man's unflinching faithfulness to duty. He answered, steadfastly, 'No.' I say once more, in spite of all this, my father was not capable of such a diabolically thought-out plan--the pistol, which lay loaded upon the table, was, it is my firm conviction, designed for himself, he had intended, like many another ruined man, to end his life by suicide had your father somewhat moderated his answer to him, but his stern sincerity and conscientiousness hastened the crime. He declared without mercy that any one cognisant of guilt, was, in his opinion, a sharer of it, and that he should feel himself obliged to make public what he had just heard in order to prevent further harm, and thus drove the already despairing man to madness. He knew that should this happen his honour, the honour of his family, was inevitably lost. I saw my father's hand suddenly grasp the pistol, saw a flash--and Brand fell dead before him."
Hermann stopped and passed his hand over his brow, which was wet with cold drops, it was manifestly a fearful torture to relate this, but Gertrud made no effort to spare him; the "iron sense of duty in the father" seemed to have descended to the daughter, she listened immovably.
After an instant the Count breathed deeply, and then continued--
"Terror must have stunned me, I could not utter a sound. I saw my father open the door and cry for help, saw my mother rush in--what happened later you know. It was found possible to throw the guilt upon the dead--"
"Oh, yes, it was found possible!" interrupted she bitterly. "The only voice which upheld the truth, the cry of the widow, was at once silenced as the shameful accusation of a highly respected man, And Count Arnau swore as witness--"
"Gertrud."
Such terrible hidden torment found vent for itself in the exclamation, that Gertrud did not finish the sentence.
"You must pardon me, Herr Graf, if I am overpowered with bitterness at the remembrance of this, we have suffered too long and too deeply under it. Our little all, which our father had saved so carefully, was, of course, seized, and my mother being quite without help, was compelled to ask assistance of well-to-do relatives in W----. We found there protection from actual hunger, but only under a hard condition. Our relatives were honest, strict bürger people, and would not suffer a name amongst them which stood in the papers as that of a thief and a cheat. My mother was forced to re-assume her family name, she did it in order to save her child, then but a few months old, from absolute want. But our misfortune was not kept secret by those around us--we have been despised so long as I can remember."
It seemed, indeed, as if with these remembrances, all the hatred and suffering of the past years was once more awakened, every word became a passionate reproach. Hermann had listened in dark silence, now he said with a sort of bitter resignation--