er allowed himself
to be carried away----"

"This was not the first time," Els eagerly interrupted, "that young
Vorchtel tried to anger him in the presence of others; and he believed
that he was justified in bearing a grudge against his former friend--it
was considered a settled thing that Wolff and his sister Ursula were to
marry."

"Until," Cordula broke in, "he gazed into your bright eyes."

"How could you know that?" asked Els in confusion.

"Because, in love and hate, as well as in reckoning, two and three
follow one," laughed the countess. "As for your Wolff, in particular, I
will gladly believe, with you, that he can succeed in clearing himself
before the judges. But with regard to old Eysvogel, who looks as though,
if he met our dear Lord Himself, he would think first which of the two
was the richer, your future brother-in-law Siebenburg, that disagreeable
'Mustache,' and his poor wife, who sits at home grieving over her
dissolute husband--what gratitude you can expect from such kindred--"

"None," replied Els sadly. Yet a mischievous smile hovered around her
lips as, bending over the invalid, she added in a whisper: "But the
good I expect from all the evil is, that we and the Eysvogels will be
separated as if by wall and moat. They will never cross them, but Wolff
would find the way back to me, though we were parted by an ocean, and
mountains towering to the sky divided----"

"This confidence, indeed, maintains the courage," said the countess, and
with a faint sigh she added: "Whatever evil may befall you, many might
envy you."

"Then love has conquered you also?" Els began; but Cordula answered
evasively:

"Let that pass, dear Jungfrau. Perhaps love treats me as a mother deals
with a froward child, because I asked too much of her. My life has
become an endless battue. Much game of all kinds is thus driven out
to be shot, but the sportsman finds true pleasure only in tracking the
single heathcock, the solitary chamois. Yet, no," and in her eagerness
she flung her bandaged hand so high into the air that she groaned with
pain and was forced to keep silence. When able to speak once more, still
tortured by severe suffering, she exclaimed angrily: "No, I want neither
driving nor stalking. What do I care for the prey? I am a woman, too. I
would fain be the poor persecuted game, which the hunter pursues at the
risk of breaking his bones and neck. It must be delightful; one would
willingly bear the pain of a