“Have you read his book? That was the reason I came here,” interrupted Isabella.
“It is an absurd book,” the stranger went on. “But the man’s feeling for his castle is true and strong. After reading his book you feel drawn toward this place, whether you wish to come or not.”
“That is just what happened to me,” whispered the Princess.
“There is a sentimental maid for you,” thought the stranger. “They are becoming very frequent in our philosophical century.”
“That young man has a good heart and clear head,” thought Isabella. As far back as she could remember he was the first person who had ever shown her any sympathy.
“Oh, see here,” he suddenly broke out aloud and straightened himself. “I can not play a part. I am Count Vierstein, whom you called ‘the wild Count.’ And if I do roam about in God’s nature all day long, I get more joy and pleasure out of it than do your pale people who live indoors. I can see the sun rising here from this enchanted castle, as I did to-day—and—I am furious at the people over there in Westerau who, without further ado, are barbarous enough to blow up the home of their ancestors. You may tell your mistress so; I shall see her myself to-day, but shall not have much to say to her, certainly nothing about this.”
For a while Isabella stood speechless with terror. But the Count did not look at all wicked; in fact, he was quite handsome; and not nearly so ill-mannered as Fräulein von Martigny had described him; on the contrary, he seemed to her kind and very tactful. This consideration lessened her terror. Should she tell him? But shame closed her lips. Finally she controlled herself and whispered: “Are you really on the way to Westerau? Several times you have been expected there, but always in vain.”
“Well, it is a rough road, this journey after a bride!” the Count sighed. “However, I must go through with it; my father wishes it, and children must obey their parents, so says the Bible. But there is a limit to our obedience; I will go to Westerau and do all that is necessary and proper, but if I then dislike this Princess as much as I do from a distance—and I have little doubt of that—and if she herself intends to give me, as you say, a very decided refusal—then I can ride back home with a light and happy heart, having done my duty. My attendants are awaiting me down in the village. It is too early to make a call, and I wish once more to breathe freely here in Burg Balzer’s incomparable castle before I start on the rough road I have to travel. There, now, you know my whole history!”
Isabella drew the shawl closer over her head and looked out into the valley. She saw there a group of horsemen, followed by a carriage; the horsemen were galloping toward the castle, and in the lead, as they came nearer, she recognized her father. With an imploring cry she turned to the Count: “Save me! That is my father there, the Prince! I am Isabella. Save me, protect me from my father. Do not let them take me back into that hateful castle; it would kill me!”
The Count was covered with surprise. “You are really Isabella, my dear cousin? But you don’t look at all like your pictures, and your speech is quite different from your letters. But why are you so afraid of your father. Did you run away from him?”