The Prince drew himself up with the firmness of decision.
"No, Hartmut; you are mistaken there. Perhaps I should have fled from a strict school, but from the colors--never!"
Here it was again--the harsh words which he had already heard once before--"fled from the colors." It forced the blood to his brow again.
"Why did you not become an officer?" continued Egon. "You could have become one early at your home; you could have taken your leave then at an age when life only commences. Then you would have been free--honorably."
Hartmut was silent. His father had told him the same, but he had not wanted to wait and submit himself to rules. A barrier had stood in his way, and he simply threw it down unconcernedly. But he threw down duty and honor with it.
"You do not know all that stormed upon me at that time," he replied, heavily. "My mother--I do not wish to accuse her--but she has been my doom. My father had separated from her in early life. I thought her dead, when suddenly she entered my life and snatched me to her with her burning mother love--with her promise of freedom and happiness. She alone is responsible for that unfortunate breaking of my word----"
"What word?" interrupted Egon, excitedly. "Had you sworn to the standard?"
"No, but I had given my father my word to return when he allowed me the last conversation with my mother----"
"Instead of which you fled with her?"
"Yes."