When, ten years ago, the then Major Falkenried had been removed to the distant province, he had been stationed at a post in the small town lying in the immediate vicinity of the great Stahlberg works and dependent almost entirely upon them. The new Major was considered an excellent soldier, but a pronounced man-hater, who enjoyed his duties only, occupying all his spare time with military studies, and who hated everything that came under the head of society.
As he was alone, he was excused from keeping an open house, and he exhibited himself only at houses where his position imperatively demanded it. Such consideration had to be shown the great manufacturer, who was the leader of the whole vicinity, and who received and entertained as guests the first and highest personages.
Stahlberg had been the only one whom the military man approached. Although the grave and gloomy reticence of the Major excluded real friendship, yet the two men felt the highest esteem for each other, and the Stahlberg home was the only place where Falkenried appeared occasionally of his own free will.
He had had intercourse there for years and seen the two children grow up. Therefore Wallmoden was the more offended that Falkenried did not attend his wedding, but excused himself through pressure of official duties.
Adelaide knew little or nothing about the life of the Colonel. She considered him childless and heard only from her husband that he had been married early in life, but had been separated from his wife and was now a widower.
It was about a week after the return of the Wallmodens that Falkenried's arrival was announced to the young wife as she sat one day at her writing table. She threw aside her pen, arose quickly and hastened to her friend.
"You are heartily welcome, Colonel Falkenried. We received your telegram, and Herbert intended to meet you at the depot, but just at this hour he has an audience with the Duke, and is still at the palace, so we could only send the carriage."
Her greeting had all the cordiality which an old friend of her father's could wish, but Falkenried's response was not of a like kind. Coldly and seriously he accepted the offered hand and the invitation to be seated, as he thanked her for her welcome.
The Colonel had indeed changed, so much as scarcely to be recognized. Were it not for the tall, muscular form and strong, firm carriage, one could have taken him for an old man. His hair--the hair of a man barely fifty years old--was white as snow, the brow furrowed deeply, and sharp lines were buried in the face, making it look ten years older. The features, once so expressive, appeared fixed and immovable now; the entire appearance and bearing bespoke stern, impenetrable reticence.
Regine's words, "The man is turned to stone," were only too true. One involuntarily gained the impression that he had become a total stranger to the world, and that all mankind had died off for aught that moved him--nothing was left except the duties of his vocation.