"Egon, I beg of you, leave the subject," interrupted Hartmut, harshly. "I have told you once for all that I cannot and will not speak of it. If you mistrust me, let me go. I have not forced myself upon you, you know that; but I cannot bear these inquiries and questions."
The proud, inconsiderate tone which he used toward his friend did not seem to be anything new to the Prince. He merely shrugged his shoulders and said pacifyingly:
"How irritable you are again to-day! I believe you are right when you insist that German air makes you nervous. You are entirely changed since you put foot on this soil."
"It is possible. I feel that I torture you and myself with these whims; therefore let me go, Egon."
"I know better! Have I taken so much pains to catch you, just to let you fly off again now? No, no, Hartmut, I shall not let you go by any means."
The words sounded playful, but Rojanow seemed to take them wrongly. His eyes lighted up almost threateningly as he returned:
"And what if I will leave?"
"Then I shall hold you like this."
With an indescribably charming expression, Egon threw his arm around his friend's shoulder. "And I shall ask if this bad, obstinate Hartmut can bring his conscience to desert me. We have lived together almost two years, and have shared danger and joy like two brothers, and now you would storm out into the world again without asking about me. Am I, then, so little to you?"
Such warm, heartfelt beseeching was in the words that Rojanow's irritation could not live. His eyes lit up with an expression which showed that he returned just as intensely the passionate, enthusiastic affection which the young Prince bore him, even if he was, in their mutual relationship, the domineering one.