She made an attempt to regain her self-command.
"Herr Graf, I do not know, indeed, what your sudden appearance means after--"
"After my long silence? What, Gertrud, did not you know me better? You thought I was weak and cowardly enough to accept your generous sacrifice unconditionally?"
She dropped her eyes; a "No" to this answer would have been--a lie. He came close to her and took her hand.
"I knew you well enough to know that your declaration was made in all earnestness, and that every attempt to dissuade you would meet with a renewed refusal, and it is contrary to my nature to indulge in useless complaints and assurances. I preferred to be silent till I could act."
"Act?"
She looked at him questioningly, doubtingly.
"Yes. Your farewell words were true, no one knew that better than myself. In our little capital, where every scandal sleeps unforgotten, to wake again through love of talk, to the ruin of some family--in our own principality, where every important post depends upon favour at Court, and in the midst of a nobility whose prejudices are not yet touched by the faintest breath of advancing opinion, my career would, indeed, have been shattered if Gertrud Brand had become my wife. A union between us under these circumstances would have been impossible."
"And now--?"
"These circumstances had to be altered. I am free."