The words were spoken coldly, but the speaker did not raise her eyes from the flowers with which her hand played.
"Not at all," agreed Hartmut. "It has often been a surprise to me to hear the same fable repeated in different countries over and over again. The coloring is different, to be sure, but the passion, the woe, the happiness of our human race is alike in them all."
Adelheid shrugged her shoulders.
"I won't dispute over the matter with a poet, but doubt it, notwithstanding. I think our German legends wear a different countenance from the dreamy tales of India."
"Perhaps, but when you study them deeply, you will discover the same features in both. These common features are manifest in the legend of 'Arivana,' at least. The principal character is that of a young priest who has consecrated himself, body and soul, to the service of his divinity, to the holy fire, but in time he is mastered by an earthly love with all its glow and passion, till his priestly vows dissolve in its consuming flame."
He stood opposite her, quietly and respectfully, but his voice had an odd, covert sound, as if something of deeper significance were hidden beneath this story. Frau von Wallmoden looked up at him suddenly, and said, gazing earnestly into his face:
"And—the end?"
"The end is death, as in all these legends. The knowledge of the broken vows comes to light and the guilty ones are offered as a sacrifice to an enraged deity—the priest perishes in the flames with the woman whom he loves."
There was a second's pause after the last words were spoken, then Adelheid rose abruptly; she would end this conversation at once.
"You are right; no doubt the legends do resemble ours; it is only the old story of sin and atonement."