"I would have protected you from the poisonous atmosphere of such an influence," continued Falkenried. "Fool that I was! Even without her persuasion you were lost to me. You had your mother's features, and it was her blood which flowed in your veins, and sooner or later you were bound to come to your own. You became what you are—a homeless adventurer who knows neither fatherland nor honor!"
"That is too much!" cried Hartmut, almost wild now. "I will not be so insulted by any one, not even by you. I see now that no reconciliation between us is possible. I will go, but the world will judge otherwise than you. It has already crowned me, and I will force from it the recognition which my own father denies me."
The colonel looked at his son, and there was something frightful in his glance; then he said, slowly and distinctly, in his icy tone:
"Better be careful that the world does not learn that the 'laurel crowned poet' was suborned in Paris for over two years—as a spy."
Hartmut started back as though shot.
"I? in Paris? you must be out of your mind."
Falkenried shrugged his shoulders contemptuously:
"Still acting a comedy? you need give yourself no trouble; I know all. Wallmoden laid before me the proofs of the game which Zalika Rojanow and her son played in Paris. I know the sources from which the money came on which you lived after she had lost her fortune. She was greatly sought after for her peculiar accomplishments, for she was very skillful. He who paid the highest price—secured her services!"
Hartmut was completely overwhelmed.
This then was the solution of Wallmoden's riddle. He had not understood the ambassador, and had thought his insinuations of a different nature.