Any other mother and son would have fallen into each other's arms, and in one outburst of affection sought to forget the long and bitter estrangement. These natures were too stern and reticent. Waldemar did not utter a word, but, for the first time in his life, he pressed his mother's hand to his lips.
"Will you remain?" asked the mother, entreatingly.
"No," he replied, firmly but gently; "I shall go, but I thank you for the words you have spoken. They make the risk far easier for me. You have always regarded me as your enemy because I have not entered into your party plans; I could not do so, I cannot now; but nothing forbids my releasing the count from an inhuman sentence. I will at least make the attempt, and I shall succeed if success is possible. You know the motive that urges me on."
The mother abandoned her opposition. This assurance awakened hope within her own breast.
"And Wanda?" she asked.
"Wanda said to me to-day, 'If my father were at liberty, I should have the courage to defy everything for your sake.' Tell her that I hope to remind her of those words some day. Do not question me further, mother. You know that I must act alone, for I only among you all am free from suspicion. You will not hear from me during my absence, for you are under close surveillance, and a message from you would endanger my undertaking. Leave all to me. I must hasten--there is no time to lose. And now, good-bye."
He kissed his mother's hand, and hastened away. She was deeply wounded at her son's hurried farewell; she went to the window, eager for one more parting recognition, but she received none. Waldemar's eyes sought another window. As he rode out of the court his glance was fixed upon Wanda's corner room, as if in that glance lay some magic power to compel from her a farewell greeting. For her sake he was about to enter upon an undertaking beset with dangers, and where Wanda was concerned, his mother and all the world were forgotten.
He saw her once more. She appeared at the window, and Waldemar's face lighted up as if illumined by a sudden burst of sunshine. For a moment their eyes met in a glance more eloquent than words. The young man bowed low, and giving Norman the rein, he dashed away like the wind.
The mother stood gazing after her son. He had not turned to give her one farewell look; she was forgotten. At this thought her soul was for the first time pierced by the same arrow Waldemar had often felt at sight of her partiality for Leo. At this moment the conviction she was still reluctant to admit forced itself upon her: that her eldest son inherited what the youngest had never possessed,--her own indomitable will and energy. She now acknowledged that, in mind and character, Waldemar was blood of her blood.