Rodenberg seemed to recollect himself for the first time; he bit his lip. "And you have been all this time studying me in cold blood? Hans, it is unpardonable."
"Possibly, but it was necessary. Look at the picture yourself; see that brow and those eyes. I hit it off with a few strokes of the brush."
Michael, still irritated and annoyed, approached the easel and looked at the picture. He was struck with the change in it, but before he could speak Hans threw his arm around his shoulder and said, with sudden seriousness, "Come, tell me about yourself and the Steinrücks. Why do you hate Count Raoul, and what gives you the right to say such things to the general, your chief? There must be something here which yon have concealed from me."
Rodenberg made no reply, and turned away.
"Do I not deserve your confidence?" Hans asked, reproachfully. "I never have had a secret from you. What are your relations with Steinrück?"
There ensued a brief pause, and then Michael said, coldly and sternly, "The same as Count Raoul's."
Hans stared at him in blank incredulity; he could not trust his ears. "What do you mean? The general----?"
"Is the father of my mother. Her name was Louise Steinrück."
March of this year was a very disagreeable month. After being ushered in by a few bright sunny days it veiled the city in gray mist and rain for weeks. The first buds perished of cold and damp, and people gazed out from behind their window-panes, disgusted with the spring month that did so little honour to its name.