When Rodenberg had gone, Raoul arose and slowly left the room and the house. Outside, he paused as if reflecting, and then retreated into the shadow as two figures emerged from the door-way. He recognized them as they glided past him on their way to the station, but he betrayed his presence by no sign, no sound. The proximity of the woman who but a short time before had possessed such power over him scarcely made any impression upon him. He knew that she was vanishing from him forever, but the knowledge gave him no pain. All within him seemed empty and dead, incapable of sensation.
From the open window just above him came the same voice that he had heard a few moments before, but how different was its tone!
"Hertha, my darling, forgive me for leaving you as I did. I had to fight for one hour of farewell. Now there is no duty to keep me from you. But we will have no tears,--we are still together."
Then another voice spoke,--a voice which the listener also knew well, and which sounded strange to him in its tenderness and sweetness.
"No, Michael, you shall not see a tear. I will think of nothing save the joy of having you here."
Was that really Hertha? Ah, she had learned to love indeed, and he who had once been her betrothed knew now what he had sacrificed. It drove him far from the lovers; he walked on aimlessly in the darkness, beside the rushing river, until a wall barred his way. It was one of the supports of the bridge, above the arches of which the railway crossed the river; below the current ran strong, and an old willow dipped its boughs deep into the water.
The air was close and sultry, but a storm was at hand, and the lightning flashed sharply and incessantly. Raoul leaned against the trunk of the willow and gazed down into the dark whirling water; it cost him an effort to think clearly.
What should he do now? Go home? He could be there on the morrow, and some pretext for his absence could easily be invented.
No one knew what had happened, with the exception of the two who would keep silence for the sake of the honour of the Steinrücks, but the last of the name felt utterly unable to confront his grandfather again. The stern old man had pronounced sentence upon the traitor to his country,--the look of cool contempt beneath which Raoul had winced half an hour ago would fall upon him day after day from his grandfather's eyes,--death were indeed preferable to such a fate!
Loud hurrahs resounded from the railway-station, where the crowd were cheering the troops who were about to take their departure, and behind those dimly-lighted windows a young soldier was bidding farewell to his betrothed whom he might never see again. But here, beneath this willow, stood one for whom all was lost,--betrothed, honour, even a country.