Valentin benevolently came to his relief with a few questions as to his welfare during the last ten years, but it was some minutes before the forester could collect himself sufficiently to reply, and even then his answers were rather incoherent. There was not much to tell; his present situation on the young Countess's estates brought him a better salary than his former one, but he lived as before in the forest, with no associates save his underlings, rarely saw anything of the world, and seemed to lead the same half-savage life as formerly at the forest lodge. He saw the general frequently, for the Count was very conscientious in the discharge of his duties as guardian, and himself inspected his ward's estates, but he had seen his young mistress to-day for the first time for ten years; he had met her on his way to the village, as she was returning to the castle.
This was told in a broken, disconnected fashion, the speaker's eyes being all the while riveted persistently upon Michael. If the captain took any part in the conversation the forester was mute; his shyness seemed to increase rather than to diminish; his wonted self-assertion had vanished. Michael, moreover, was as taciturn and absent-minded as he had previously been in talking with the priest; even this unexpected meeting could not keep his thoughts from incessantly following the little mountain wagon, which had now probably accomplished a third of its journey, and he suddenly left the room to see if the moon, which had just risen, were shining brightly enough for the mountain drive.
Wolfram looked after him, and then said to the priest in a strangely--subdued tone, "Is it really true, your reverence? Is that really and truly Michael,--our Michael?"
Valentin could not forbear smiling, as he replied, "I should think you could see that for yourself."
"Yes, I do see it, but I can't believe it," the man declared. "That the boy to whom I have given many a blow for his stupidity and obstinacy? The innkeeper said the captain was so wonderfully clever that they had put him on the general's staff, and in the last war he fought furiously, and made short work with the enemy. And now he's a captain, just like my Herr Count when I entered his service forty years ago, and some day he may be a general like his Excellency."
"It is quite possible. But did not the innkeeper mention his name when he told you all this?"
"No; he called him only 'the captain.' Oh, he has a great respect for him. Well, so far as I can see, there's no being very familiar with Herr Michael now. He is friendly enough, but there is a kind of way about him that makes you keep your distance. He calls me Herr Forester; I suppose I must call him Herr Captain."
"You certainly must conform yourself to altered circumstances," said the priest, gravely. "And one thing more, Wolfram. It is not necessary that you should tell the innkeeper and your other acquaintances that Captain Rodenberg is your former foster-son. He had very little intercourse with the villagers in old times, and is so much altered that no one recognized him when he returned here an officer. I know that Count Steinrück enjoined silence upon you with regard to your foster-son, and you were silent. You would oblige Michael and myself if you would pursue the same course now."
"I never was a tattler, as your reverence knows," rejoined Wolfram. "I shouldn't gain much by my former prophecies about Michael; the people would be sure to tease me with them, and I must go home the day after to-morrow; I don't want anybody here to get wind of the matter until after I have gone."
Michael's return put a stop to the conversation. Immediately afterwards the forester took his leave and returned to the little village inn, which stood at a considerable distance from the parsonage. Meanwhile the night had set in, and St. Michael soon lay buried in slumber.