Wallmoden had not expected such an answer, and looked keenly at his friend as he continued:
"I deemed it necessary to tell you because of the possibility of a meeting. Rojanow plays a conspicuous part here and is to be met with everywhere. The duke is greatly taken with him; you will be very apt to come across him at the castle."
"And what then? I know no one who bears the name of Rojanow, and he will not dare to know me. We will pass one another as strangers."
Wallmoden watched his friend's face closely while he was speaking; he wondered if all feeling was dead, or if this intense coldness and indifference were assumed.
"I believed you would have taken the news of your son's re-appearance differently," he said, half aloud. It was the only time he used the word "son;" he had called him Rojanow in telling the story, and he did it with a purpose now. For the first time there was a movement from the window, but it was a movement of anger.
"I have no son, bear that in mind, Wallmoden. He died that last night at Burgsdorf, and the dead return no more."
Wallmoden was silent, but the colonel stepped up to him and laid his hand heavily on his arm.
"You mentioned just now that you felt it your duty to tell the duke, but consideration for me had kept you silent so far. I have but one thing left to guard in the wide world, the honor of my name, and such an explanation on your part would stain it forever. Do what you think is best. I shall not prevent you, but—I must then do what I think best."
His voice sounded hard as ever, but there was a tone underlying his words which fairly frightened the ambassador.
"For God's sake, Falkenried, what do you mean?"