Egon looked at her in amazement. Was this all? He had expected a different impression. "And what do you think of the poem itself?" he asked.
"Quite excellent. Herr Rojanow seems indeed to possess much poetic talent. But here is your glass, Your Highness. I thank you. I must be thinking of the descent now, as I do not wish to keep my husband waiting too long."
Egon folded up the paper slowly and deposited it in his breast pocket. He felt the icy breath now surround again the beautiful woman, which chilled him to the heart.
"I already have the honor of an acquaintance with His Excellency," he said. "May I renew it today?"
A slight bow gave the permission to accompany her. They left the platform, but the Prince had grown somewhat monosyllabic. He felt offended for his friend, and now regretted having given this poetry, the beauty of which carried him away, to a lady who had no understanding of, nor appreciation whatever for, poetry.
CHAPTER XVII.
Hartmut descended the stairs slowly after his leave-taking, the lost letter-case resting safely in its usual place. It had served its purpose as a pretext to free its possessor a little while.
Adelaide von Wallmoden had casually mentioned having come with her husband, who remained down at the inn because he disliked the troublesome climbing of the steep stairs.
Hartmut could not therefore evade a meeting with him, but it should at least take place without witnesses. If Wallmoden should recognize the son of his friend, whom he had known only as a boy, he might not be able to master his surprise.
Hartmut did not fear this meeting, even if it were inconvenient and uncomfortable to him. There was but one face in the whole world he feared--only one face to which he would not dare lift his eyes--and that face was far away; probably he would never see it again. Every one else he met with the proud defiance of a man who had only done right in withdrawing from a hated vocation.