"In Germany? You will hardly succeed in that, Your Highness. Herr Rojanow has a poor opinion of our fatherland. He betrayed that to me the day before yesterday in rather an offensive way."
The Prince became attentive. The words at once explained the cold reserve, which was not usually Hartmut's manner toward a beautiful woman, and which had surprised him at the first moment. But he smiled.
"Ah, that was the reason why he did not speak of the encounter. Your Excellency has probably shown him your displeasure. It serves him right. Why does he prevaricate with such persistency? He has irritated me often enough with this assumed depreciation, which I accepted then in good faith; but I know better now."
"You do not believe in it?" Adelaide suddenly turned from the view to the speaker.
"No, I have the proof of it in my hands. He is infatuated with our German land. You look at me incredulously, Your Excellency. May I impart a secret to you?"
"Well?"
"I was looking for Hartmut this morning in his room, but did not find him, I found, instead, a poem upon his desk, which he had probably forgotten to lock up, for it was surely not intended for my eyes. I stole it, without any compunction of conscience, and carry the spoils still with me. Will you permit me to read it?"
"I do not understand the Roumanian language," said Frau von Wallmoden, with cool satire. "Herr Rojanow has scarcely condescended to compose a poem in German."
Instead of answering, Egon drew out the paper and opened it. "You are prejudiced against my friend; I see it. But I do not like you to regard him in the wrong light in which he has placed himself. May I justify him with his own words?"
"If you please."