"But, Your Highness----"
"Nonsense! there may be a little resemblance. I noticed it myself, therefore I wanted to know the name of the man. You heard that it was Joseph Tanner."
"But still it was the real live Herr Rojanow," cried the unshakable Stadinger, whose sharp eyes could not be deceived. "Only the black locks were gone and the proud, haughty manner, but it was his voice."
"Get away from me with your fancies!" Egon broke out angrily. "You know that Herr Rojanow is in Sicily, but here you want to trace him in an orderly of the Seventh Regiment. It is truly worse than ridiculous."
Stadinger held his peace. It was, indeed, ridiculous and impossible, and consequently was his young Prince so ungracious. He felt offended that a common soldier should be confounded with his friend. And really the haughty Rojanow, who understood how to command from the very bottom of his heart, and had often chased all the servants at Rodeck helter-skelter with his orders--and the orderly who had been snubbed by Lieutenant Waldorf because he did not speak loud enough--were two ever so different things. If only it had not been for the voice!
"Think, Your Highness," besought the old man, who was now wavering.
"I think that you are an old seer of spirits," said Egon more mildly. "Go into your quarters and sleep away the fatigue of your journey, or you will be finding some more resemblances. Good-night!"
Stadinger obeyed and took his leave. Fortunately he had not known Joseph Tanner, who had only been at Ostwalden a few weeks, and the encounter had put him in such a fright that the partly concealed excitement of his master passed quite unnoticed by him. But he clung to his doubts; the thing was strange--very strange.
When the Prince found himself alone he began to pace the floor in violent excitement. So! what he had refused his former friend had been enforced. Joseph Tanner! He plainly remembered the name, which had been mentioned to him at Ostwalden, and he knew now whose hand had opened for Hartmut the ranks of the army which had been closed to a Rojanow.
What will not the love of a woman attain!--a woman who desires to see her love exonerated at any price. She herself had sent him out into danger and death--to save him for life and--herself. Jealousy rose wild and hot in Egon's breast at the thought, and with it that awful suspicion, not yet overcome, raised its head again threateningly. Did Hartmut really wish to atone only in this war? Was not his presence at the outposts a danger, for which one was responsible if he kept it a secret?