The kind old lady arose and left the room to prepare some extra dainty with which to tempt her protegée's fleeting appetite.
She was right; the merry, bright Marietta would not now be recognized. Beyond a doubt it gave a painful, depressed feeling to be brought before the people of Furstenstein in so bad a light through that occurrence in the park, and even here in town her name, so carefully protected, might suffer if something of it should be heard; but, strange to say, these possibilities remained in the background because of a fear which grew with every hour and was hardly to be borne any longer.
"With my blood, if it must be."
Unconsciously she whispered Willibald's last words, and pressed her hot brow against the window pane. "Oh, my God, not that!"
Suddenly at the street corner a figure appeared, which attracted attention on account of its unusual size. He came nearer with rapid steps and looked searchingly at the house numbers.
With a suppressed cry of joy, Marietta sprang from the window. She had recognized Herr von Eschenhagen. She did not wait until he pulled the bell, but hastened to open the door. Tears shimmered yet in her eyes, but her voice was jubilant as she cried: "You come at last! God be praised!"
"Yes, here I am, well and whole," assured Willibald, whose face lighted up at his reception.
Neither knew how they reached the sitting room. To the young man it seemed as if a small, soft hand had been laid upon his arm and had drawn him along, all unresisting. But when they stood before each other, Marietta noticed that a broad, black bandage was around his right hand.
"Mon Dieu, you are injured!" she cried in fear.
"A slight scratch--not worth mentioning," Willibald said merrily, waving the hand. "I have given the Count a more severe reminder, but it is also only a glance shot in the shoulder, and not in the least dangerous to his precious life. That man could not even shoot right."