The other gentleman, who was in civilian dress, was probably older than his companion. His stature was of medium height and frail. At first sight he appeared almost insignificant beside the powerful form of the officer, but the pale, sharply outlined face bore an expression of cold, superior calm; and the sarcastic line around the thin lips proved that behind the cold composure expressed in his whole manner something deeper lay concealed.
He now shook his head with displeasure.
"You take life too hard, Falkenried," he said reproachfully; "you have changed remarkably in these last years. He who has seen you as a young officer, merry as the day, would not recognize you now. And why all this? The shadow which once clouded your life has long ago vanished; you are heart and soul a soldier; you receive distinction at every opportunity; an important position is assured you in the near future; and, what is best--you have kept your son."
Falkenried did not reply; he folded his arms and again looked out into the gray distance. The other continued:
"The boy has grown as handsome as a picture in these last few years. I was quite surprised when I saw him, and even you confess that he is extraordinarily gifted, and, moreover, in several respects is endowed with absolute genius."
"I wish Hartmut were less gifted and had more character instead," Falkenried said in almost harsh tones. "He can make poetry and learn languages as if it were play, but as soon as he begins earnest study he remains far behind the others; while as to military strategy, nothing whatever can be done with him. You have no idea, Wallmoden, what iron severity I have to bring to bear on that."
"I only fear that you do not accomplish much with this severity," interrupted Wallmoden. "You should have followed my advice and sent your son to the University. That he is not cut out for a soldier you ought now finally to see."
"He must and shall be fit for it; it is the only thing possible for his unruly disposition, which chafes under every curb and feels every duty a burden. The University--the life of a student--would give him fullest liberty. Nothing but the iron discipline to which he has to bow keeps him in check."
"Yes, for a while; but can it force him in the future? You should not deceive yourself. His are, unfortunately, inherited faults, which may possibly be suppressed, but never uprooted. Hartmut is in appearance the image of his mother; he has her features--her eyes."
"Yes, I know," Falkenried said, gloomily, "her dark, demoniacal, glowing eyes, which knew how to charm everything----"