"No; that is only the name of an ancient, sacred spot, around which this legend clings. The name of the heroine is--Ada."
Rojanow uttered the name softly, hesitatingly; but his eyes flamed up triumphantly, as he saw again the same slight quiver he had seen at his entrance. Slowly he approached a few steps, continuing: "I heard the name for the first time upon India's soil, and it had a sweet foreign sound for me, which I retained for my heroine, and now I learn here that the abbreviation of a German name is just like it."
"Of the name Adelaide--yes. I was always called so at home; but it is nothing peculiar that the same sounds return in different languages."
The words sounded repellent, but the young wife did not lift her eyes; she gazed fixedly upon the flower with which her fingers toyed.
"Certainly not," assented Hartmut; "I only noticed it. It was no surprise, since all legends are repeated in all nations. They have a greater or less difference in appearance, but that which lives in them--the passion, the happiness and joy of the people--that is the same everywhere."
Adelaide shrugged her shoulders.
"I cannot argue about that with a poet, but I do believe that our German legends possess other features than the Indian dreams of myths."
"Perhaps so, but if you look deeper you will find these features familiar. This Arivana myth, at least, has similar lines. The hero, a young priest who has consecrated body and soul to his deity--the sacred, burning fire--is overwhelmed by earthly love, with all its fervor and passion, until his priestly vow perishes in its intensity."
He stood quietly and respectfully before her, but his voice had a strangely suppressed sound, as if, hidden behind this narrative, there was another and secret meaning.
Suddenly the Baroness raised her eyes and directed them fully and seriously upon the face of the speaker. "And--the end?"