class="normal">The young man to whom these words were addressed, lifted his head slowly and said in a tone of unconcealed bitterness--

"I wish you knew what such a conflict was, then you would understand how difficult decision is!"

"I don't think I should. If my whole future lay on one side, and a youthful love affair, already half cooled down, on the other, there would be no conflict at all in my case, but simply necessity, which I should bow to, at any price."

"And if it cost the breaking of a heart?"

"Mein Gott! don't look at the matter in such a terribly tragical way. Broken hearts, dying in sacrifice to unhappy love, may be very effective and touching in novels, but don't exist in actual life, and such a simple girl as your fiancée, is not likely to fall a victim to this romantic martyrdom. Of course the loss of her bräutigam^[1] will cost her some tears, but she will get over it, and a year and a day after will marry some respectable Bürger and Councillor of B., who will suit her much better, and make her much happier than you would ever be able to do."

"I wish you would be quiet, Hermann!" cried Eugen violently. "You don't know Gertrud, and for that reason you are always unjust to her."

"That may be. I have, as you know, a decided antipathy to everything narrow and bürgerlich,^[2] and when it stands in the way of a man's career, and drags him down into the lowest sphere of life, I simply hate it!"

Eugen had no reply ready for these decided words. He sprang up, went to the window, and pressing his brow against the glass, looked out on the park, which lay before him in the dewy freshness of a June morning. The sun shone warmly into the ancient pavilion, with its half obliterated frescoes on walls and roof, on the gilded, richly carved furniture, with its faded figured damask of the last century; and lighted up brightly the figures of the two young men seated there. The one who leaned against the window had a tall, slender figure, and a face, which, without being regularly beautiful, was yet singularly attractive at first sight. There was a mighty charm in these features, a world of passion and dreaminess in the dark eyes, and cloudy brows, and the inward conflict which was now shown plainly enough in his countenance, gave a still deeper interest to this artistic head, with its wealth of dark hair.

His companion possessed little or none of these fascinating attractions. He was smaller, but more powerfully built, with irregular features, which would have made him decidedly plain, but for the high, finely moulded brow, which gave a remarkable and peculiar character to the whole countenance. His keen grey eyes, almost too keen for a man of four-and-twenty, looked out calmly and clearly from beneath it, and seemed in keeping with the sharply defined lines round the mouth, a feature full of energy and decision, but cold and bitter in expression, robbing the countenance of all youthfulness, and making it at some moments almost repulsive. The young man spoke calmly, leaning back at his ease in the arm chair, and contemplating his agitated friend with almost indifference, but in spite of his calmness and indifferent mien, there was an air of unconscious nobility in his bearing, a decided superiority, which was wanting in Eugen, who, leaning gracefully against the window, dreamily contemplating the clouds, was certainly interesting, but perhaps a little theatrical in appearance.

A momentary pause in the conversation had occurred, suddenly broken by Hermann with the question--

"What is your feeling with regard to Antonie?"

A deep sigh, and a movement of impatience was the only answer.

"You love her?"

"I worship her!"

"And this worship gives her only too much satisfaction. But now, do you imagine that my proud cousin would be the one to suffer a rival in the shape of an unknown, insignificant little Bürgermädchen? Take care, if she should find it out sooner or later; I assure you, it would dash all your hopes to the ground at once."

Eugen looked moodily into space.

"Hopes! How could I dare to have any? Am not I bürgerlich, with no great name, no fortune--do you really imagine that she would be ready to sacrifice her name and rank for me, that Countess Arnau could ever become the wife of an unknown painter?"

A sarcastic smile quivered round Hermann's lips--

"Well, if you cannot tell, I am not the one to give you any certainty about the matter. But," added he, mockingly, "it seems to me you are pretty sure of your ground, and that there is not much danger of having 'No' for an answer. Just on that account you must decide for yourself. How shall it be? What have you decided?"

Eugen threw himself back into his chair with a despairing exclamation.

"Do not torment me with such questions, Hermann! You see my difficulties! It would be kinder to show me some way out of this labyrinth."

"The way is plain enough before you! Be a man, and rouse yourself to action energetically. Break quickly and decidedly the chain which has held you down so far, you owe it to Antonie, to your own future, if you do not intend your love for her to be an insult. And then, when you are free, come with me to Italy. The tour is really necessary for the completion of your art studies; if your finances don't admit of it, mine are at your disposal. Come, make haste and decide."

The decided, almost commanding manner of the friend, did not seem to admit of any contradiction, and did not fail to impress the young painter, who wrung his hands in deep inward conflict with himself.

"I know you are right, only too right. I feel it in every word you say, but, Gertrud! Gertrud! Call me weak, call me what you will, but I cannot bear to know that she is unhappy, unhappy through me."

With a movement of the greatest impatience, Hermann pushed back his chair and sprang up.

"Well, then, if you cannot, I shall act for you. Ah, here comes Antonie, just at the right time."

"What are you going to do?" cried Eugen, alarmed.

"Cut the knot which ties you to despair! Good morning, liebe Toni."

Eugen longed to protest and entreat against his friend's intentions, which he dimly portended, but it was already too late. A dress rustled before the door of the pavilion, and a young lady crossed the threshold.

Countess Antonie Arnau was certainly a being whose appearance could well justify the passion of a young artist. A slender refined figure, and a face of truly poetic beauty. A pair of dark eyes, full of dreamy fire, looked out from a somewhat pale face, surrounded by dark hair, artistically arranged, and falling thickly on her white embroidered morning dress. Her movements and bearing were full of grace, but nevertheless, there was a something in her air which betrayed that the young Countess was quite as well aware of her beauty as of her position in the world.

She shook hands with her cousin confidentially, while she answered Eugen's greeting with a smile, and then said playfully--,

"I thought I was the first in the park today, but I see the gentlemen are already before me, and are holding a most important conference here."