"Good heavens! Papa! I hear his step!" exclaimed Gerlinda, freeing herself from the arm Hans had clasped about her, and running to the window. "Oh, Hans, what shall we do now?"
"Present ourselves to him as a betrothed pair and ask his blessing," the young man promptly replied. "It has got to be done, and the sooner the better."
The heavy, shuffling step of the Freiherr was in fact audible in the next room, with the tap of his cane on the floor. He opened the door and stood as if paralyzed on the threshold. He saw the man 'of no name, no family,' with his daughter; at a respectful distance from her, to be sure, but the mere fact of their being together was enough to rouse his indignation. He advanced slowly into the room. "Ah, Herr Hans Wehlau!" he said, emphasizing the name with contempt.
Hans bowed. "At your service, Herr von Eberstein."
The old gentleman was evidently desirous of assuming the angry attitude required by the occasion, but his gout played him an ill turn; just at this point his feet refused to sustain him, and he sank into the nearest arm-chair, where he presented a spectacle that was pitiable rather than terrible. Nevertheless, he controlled himself, and continued: "I have just come from a"--he suppressed a more violent expression--"a certain Professor Wehlau, who declares himself your father."
"Which he assuredly is," said Hans, perceiving clearly that his confession was unnecessary.
"And you admit it?" cried the Freiherr, angrily. "You confess that you have played a disgraceful farce with me; that you sneaked into my house under a false name, assuming a title----"
"Beg pardon, Herr Baron, that I did not do," Hans interposed. "I only took the liberty of adding a second name to the one belonging to me of right. You yourself prefixed the 'Baron.' But you are quite right to reproach me, and I frankly beg your forgiveness for the stupid trick by which I extorted a hospitality at first denied me. I call upon Fräulein von Eberstein to witness that it was my intention to go to the Ebersburg to tell you the truth. A jest might well be forgiven to the passing guest who appeared at night and departed in the morning; but to prolong the jest would be deceit. This I perceived as soon as I met Fräulein von Eberstein in the capital, and I did not delay an instant in revealing the truth to her."
Eberstein cast a surprised and indignant glance at his daughter. "What, Gerlinda! you knew this and concealed it from me? You have allowed this Hans Wehlau to approach you, and have even perhaps accepted his excuses for what is entirely inexcusable? Highly unbecoming conduct!"
Gerlinda answered not a word; she stood by the window, pale and trembling, gazing anxiously at Hans. The little Dornröschen was no heroine. All the more undaunted was the Knight of the Forschungstein. He saw that nothing was to be gained hereby temporizing; the danger must be braved, and he attacked the high thorny hedge with ardour.