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Wallmoden was still in Berlin, though over two weeks had elapsed since he left the castle, and he had not yet been able to write definitely as to the date of his return. One of the most frequent guests at Fürstenstein was Prince Egon Adelsberg, who was an acknowledged favorite among his princely kinsfolk, and his friend Rojanow was always included in the invitations sent to Rodeck.
Herr Rojanow should not desert so true a comrade. Perhaps you could save him from this sword of Damocles." Egon could hardly credit his senses. This warm hand pressure, the sad, tender glance from the eyes brimming with tears, and the almost passionate earnestness with which she spoke, surprised and enchanted him. He grasped her hand and pressed it with fervor to his lips.
Hartmut drew his hand across his brow as if to smooth out something, then he answered with a gasp: "Because it means deliverance or death." "You return as great a mystery as when you went away," said Egon, shaking his head. "You have avoided my questionings; can you not tell me your secret now?" "Only get me into the army and I'll tell you everything!" cried Rojanow, feverish with excitement.
Rojanow was roused from his dreaming by this unexpected apparition, and the stranger caught sight of him at once. She appeared surprised, too, but only for a second, then she stepped forward, and said, with a slight bow: "May I beg you, sir, to show me the way to Fürstenstein? I am a stranger here and have lost my way, and am, I fear, far from the place I seek."
Then when they were alone the ambassador explained to Willibald who and what this Hartmut Rojanow was. An adventurer of the lowest and worst type, whom he would soon expose and force to abandon forever the rôle which he was now playing with so little right, but with such signal success. Poor Willibald shook his head in a dazed sort of way over this news.
I supposed you only knew Hartmut through me, and considered him a Roumanian!" The young widow's face flushed as she realised how unwise she had been to make this outcry, but she answered quickly: "I learned to know who Herr Rojanow was last winter when he was at Rodeck. I have known his father, however, for many long years, and the I take it for granted that your highness knows the whole story?"
"And what his highness does not devise for himself, Herr Rojanow hatches for him. He is the worst of the two. It's hard lines that such a dare-devil should be quartered on us." "Rojanow? Who is he?" asked Schönau, all attention now. "I hardly know, but he's come with the prince, who cannot live without him. He met this friend in some heathen country.
"Possibly; I feel it myself, and I know I annoy you with my queer tempers lately, so you'd better let me go, Egon." "I will guard you well, instead. I did not catch you so easily that I can let you fly again after all my trouble. So remember that, Hartmut, for I won't let you go free at any price." The words had a joking sound, but Rojanow seemed to resent them.
But she could not restrain the anxiety she felt for the son, as she asked: "And since then? Have you heard nothing further?" "Yes, on several occasions. Once when I was with the embassy at Florence, I heard her name mentioned incidentally. She was at Rome; then a year after that she was back in Paris again; and sometime later I heard that Frau Zalika Rojanow was dead."
It had been a fatal error to believe a woman like Zalika Rojanow, who had grown up in the unrestrained freedom of a disorderly, extravagant Bojar family, could accommodate herself to the rules and restrictions of a settled German household. The only life she had ever known, and the only life which suited her temper, was one of excitement and outward splendor.
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