But she still shook her head; the poor child had a vague idea of what was ridiculous about her, and she went on in a pathetic little voice: "They seem to care so little here about their pedigrees! No one knows that we date from the tenth century, and that our family is the very oldest. If I begin to tell of it, Hertha says, 'Gerlinda, stop; you are making yourself ridiculous,' and my godmother says, 'My child, that is out of place here,' and Count Raoul smiles so disagreeably. I know now that he laughs at me. Herr von Wehlau Wehlenberg, you do not think it ridiculous, do you? Your aristocratic self-consciousness is so admirably developed, my papa says."
The knight of the Forschungstein felt extremely uncomfortable at this appeal to his aristocratic self-consciousness. It suddenly occurred to him that his sin had found him out, for as soon as Gerlinda returned to the drawing-room and heard his name, all would be explained. There was only one thing to be done,--make confession himself upon the spot.
"We searched through all the books of heraldry, and at last we found your family," the young girl continued, with an air of importance; and then, falling into what might be called her heraldic style, she began to repeat what had been found in the books: "The lords of Wehlenberg, an ancient imperial race, settled in the Margraviate since sixteen hundred and forty-three, owning estates of value in the various provinces, the head of the family being Baron Friedrich von Wehlenberg of Bernewitz----" Here she broke off to say, with some regret, "We could not find the Forschungstein."
"No, you could not find it, for there is no such place," said Hans, whose resolution was formed. "You and your father have fallen into an error for which I am accountable. I told you, however, at our first interview that I was an artist."
Gerlinda nodded gravely. "I told my papa; he thought it very unbecoming in a man of an ancient noble line."
"But I am not of an ancient noble line, nor even of a modern one."
Gerlinda looked terrified, and recoiled from him. The young man perceived it, and there was a trace of bitterness in his voice as he went on: "I have a confession to make to you, Fräulein von Eberstein, and forgiveness to ask for a deception which sprang from necessity. I reached the Ebersburg that evening wet through, and having lost my way; there was no other shelter to be found far and wide, night was falling fast, and the Baron refused me admittance because, as he would have expressed it, I was not 'of rank.' I had no choice save to be thrust out into the storm or to thrust myself into the ranks of the aristocracy, and I preferred the latter course. But I owe it to you to tell the truth. My name is simply Hans Wehlau, without any mediæval adjunct; I am a painter by profession; my father is a professor in the university here, and we are both bourgeois from head to foot."
The effect of these words was annihilating; the little châtelaine sat stark and stiff as if paralyzed with horror, staring at this bourgeois Hans Wehlau who told her so fearful a tale. At last she recovered her voice, folded her hands, and said, with a profound sigh, "This is horrible!"
Hans rose and made her a formal bow. "I confess myself very guilty, but I did not think that the truth would so startle you. I have, it seems, lost all worth in your estimation, and shall please you best by leaving you. Farewell, Fräulein von Eberstein."
He turned to go, but Gerlinda started and put out her hand as if to detain him. "Herr Wehlau."