Hartmut made no answer, no attempt to defend himself; but his breast heaved in deep, unsteady breaths.
"We will not speak of it," said Willibald, stopping short; "it cannot be changed now. I shall expect your letter to-morrow. Get everything in order. Good night."
Hartmut did not seem to hear the words--did not notice the departure of his friend. He stood there immovable, with eyes on the floor, and only after Willibald had long disappeared did he straighten himself slowly and draw his hand across his brow.
"He wished to leave!" he murmured; "to leave the army because he thought his honor demanded it. No--no, not yet. I must go to Rodeck."
The honored poet, upon whose brow Fate was pressing the first laurel wreath--who only yesterday had challenged the whole world in this victorious knowledge--dared not meet the eye of his father. He fled into solitude.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
In one of the quieter streets, whose modest but pleasant houses were mostly surrounded by gardens, Marietta Volkmar lived with an old lady--a distant relative of her grandfather--who was alone, but willing and glad to be protection and company to the young singer.
The two ladies led a life about which the ever-busy tongue of gossip could find nothing to say, and were much beloved by other members of the house. Fraulein Marietta, with her pleasant, happy face, was an especial favorite, and when her clear voice rang through the house everybody stopped to listen. But the singvögelchen had grown mute in the past two days, and showed pale cheeks and eyes red from weeping. The people shook their heads and could not understand it until they heard from old Fraulein Berger that Dr. Volkmar was sick, and his granddaughter was worried about him, but could not obtain leave of absence without a more forcible reason.
This was, indeed, no falsehood, for the old doctor had really been suffering for several days from a severe cold, but it offered no occasion for serious concern. It was only a plausible explanation of Marietta's changed demeanor, which was noticed even by her colleagues at the theatre.
The singer was standing at the window, gazing steadily out, in her plain but cosily furnished sitting room, having just returned from a rehearsal, while Fraulein Berger sat at a little table with her needlework, casting anxious glances at her protegée.