"_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 _fiancee_, is not likely to fall a victim to this romantic martyrdom. Of course the loss of her _braeutigam_[1] will cost her some tears, but she will get over it, and a year and a day after will marry some respectable Buerger 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 _buergerlich_,[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.