but he only
handed her the fan.

"I beg your pardon--I wrote my 'Arivana' upon the veranda of a little
Indian house where these lovely flowers were gleaming through the dark
foliage on all sides, and to-day they greet me here again in the cold
north. May I not keep this blossom?"

Adelheid made a little impatient motion.

"No; for what reason?"

"For what reason? As a reminder of the harsh sentence which my poem has
received from the lips of a woman who bears the same name as my heroine.
There were many white blossoms, baroness, but you broke off
unconsciously the deep purple-red. Poets are superstitious above all
things. Let me keep this as a token that my work may yet find favor in
your eyes, when you learn to know it. You do not know how much it
contains."

"Herr Rojanow, I--"

It was apparent to him, both from her voice and manner, that she meant
to refuse his petition, so he interrupted her in a subdued, but
passionate tone:

"What is a single blossom to you which you plucked heedlessly and cast
aside so carelessly? To me--baroness, as a favor--I beg you, baroness."

He stood close by her side. The witchery of voice and eye which had so
often overcome all obstacles in his boyhood's days, and which had then
been exercised, unconsciously, had become a great power in these later
years, and one which he knew how to use only too well.

His voice had again that soft, persuasive tone which fell on her ear
like music, and his eyes, those dark, fathomless eyes, were fixed on the
young wife with a half melancholy, half pleading expression. Adelheid's
face had grown very white now, but she did not answer.

"Please," he repeated, in a lower, more pleading tone, as he pressed his
lips to the purple-red blossom; but this last motion seemed to break the
spell. Adelheid reached her hand out suddenly.

"I must insist upon your giving me my flower, Herr Rojanow. It is for my
husband."

"Indeed, then, I beg your pardon, madame."

He held out the flower to her with a profound bow, and she took it with
a scarcely perceptible motion of the head, then the heavy white train of
her robe rustled past him--he was alone.

All in vain! Nothing affected this icy nature. Hartmut stamped his foot
in a fury. Scarcely fifteen minutes ago he had asserted to Prince Egon
that he could sing to please the ear of any woman. Now he had sung again
that song which never before had failed him, and all to no purpose. But
this proud, arrogan