Arnim went straight to the window. It was as though his surroundings pressed upon him with an intolerable burden, and he remained staring sightlessly out into the grey morning until the quiet opening of a door told him that he was no longer alone. Even then he did not at once turn. Only the slight convulsive tightening of the hand upon the sword-hilt betrayed that he had heard, and Frau von Arnim had almost reached his side before he swung round to greet her. "Aunt Magda!" he exclaimed. She gave him her hand, and he bent over it—remained so long with his head bowed that it seemed a conscious prolongation of the time before their eyes must meet. "I hardly expected you this afternoon," she said gently, "certainly not in such _grande tenue_. Are you on special duty?" He did not answer at once. He stood looking at her with a curiously absent expression. "I came to ask after Hildegarde," he said. "Is she better?" "Yes, much better—still very weak, of course. A fever like that is not quickly forgotten." She had slipped her arm through his and led him to the sofa before the fire. "The violets you sent are most beautiful," she went on. "They gave Hildegarde so much pleasure. She asked me to thank you for them." He sat down beside her and for a moment was silent, gazing into the fire. "Aunt Magda," he then began abruptly, "you have never told me what it was that caused Hildegarde’s illness—nor even what was the matter with her. I—I want to know." A faint, rather weary smile passed over Frau von Arnim’s lips. "Illness with Hildegarde is never far off, _lieber Junge_," she said. "She is like an ungarrisoned castle exposed to the attack of every enemy. The least thing—something which leaves you and me unharmed—throws her off her balance no one knows how or why." "And she was once so strong!" he said, half to himself. "Nothing could tire her, and she was never ill—never." "Wolff, there is no good in remembering what was and can never be again." "Never?" he queried. "Not so far as we can see." His strongly marked brows knitted themselves in pain. "Would to God it had all happened to me!" he broke out impulsively. "Then it would not have been so bad." "It would have been much worse," Frau von Arnim answered. "Women suffer better than men, Wolff. It is one of their talents. After a time, Hildegarde will find consolation where you would only have found bitterness." "After a time!" he repeated. "Then she is not happy? Poor Hildegarde!" "Even women cannot learn patience and resignation in a day." He sprang up as though inactivity had become unbearable. "Aunt Magda—if she is strong enough—I want to see Hildegarde." "Why?" Involuntarily their eyes met in a quick flash of understanding.