"And which became your ruin," completed Wallmoden. "How did I not warn and implore against them, but you would not listen to anything. Passion had taken hold of you like a fever and held you in bonds altogether. I have never been able to understand it."
A bitter smile flitted around Falkenried's mouth.
"I believe that. You, the cool, calculating diplomat who carefully measure every step, are safe from such charms."
"I should at least be more careful in my choice. Your marriage brought misfortune with it from the beginning. A wife of foreign race and blood--of wild Slavian nature, without character, without any understanding for that which is custom and duty to us, and you with your strict principles--your irritable sense of honor--it had finally to come to such an end. And I believe you loved her up to the separation in spite of everything!"
"No," said Falkenried harshly. "The illusion vanished in the first year. I saw only too clearly--but I shuddered at the idea of laying my domestic miseries open to the world by a divorce. I bore it until no choice was left me--until I finally--but enough of it!"
He turned quickly, and again looked out of the window. There was suppressed torture in the sudden breaking off.
"Yes, it needed much to tear a nature like yours from the roots," Wallmoden said seriously; "but nevertheless the separation left you free from the unfortunate claim, and with that you should have also buried the reminiscences."
"One cannot bury such reminiscences; they always rise up again from the supposed grave, and just now----" Falkenried broke off suddenly.
"Just now--what do you mean?"
"Nothing; let us speak of other things. You have been at Burgsdorf since the day before yesterday. How long do you intend to stay?"