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." Hermann shrugged his shoulders. "Important, yes, but entirely without result! I have been trying in vain for an hour to convince Eugen of the necessity of his companionship on my tour to Italy." "What, Herr Reinert," and the beautiful woman glanced surprised and reproachfully at the young artist. "You hesitate? I thought it was a settled matter, and fully expected to see you again in Rome with Hermann." Eugen was silent, and sent across a half pleading, half threatening glance to Hermann, who appeared not to see it, for he replied calmly-- "You were mistaken, Antonie; Eugen has altered his plans. He declines to go, and prefers returning to his native town, to lead his _fiancee_--" "Hermann!" cried Eugen, who had hitherto vainly endeavoured to put in a word. "To lead his _fiancee_, a Buergermaedchen there, to the hymeneal altar," concluded Hermann, not the least disturbed. But these words had a formidable effect upon Antonie. For the first moment she was deadly pale, and her hand unconsciously grasped the arm of the chair to support herself, then a sudden flush suffused her countenance, and a flash shot from her dark eyes--a glance which disfigured the beautiful face, a glance which seemed ready to annihilate Eugen, who stood resistless before her. Then, gathering together all her strength, she turned away from both to the window, thus shielding at least her countenance from Hermann's sharply observant eyes. The latter evidently felt that a third was superfluous in the explanation, which must inevitably follow, Antonie already knew enough. He took up his hat from the table-- "Excuse me a few moments. I have forgotten to give an order in the Castle. I will be back directly." The excuse was hardly necessary; neither Antonie nor Eugen appeared to hear it, and the young Count Arnau, who detested "scenes," and saw a most stormy one impending, hurried away from the pavilion, closing the door behind him. The two occupants of the room stood at first silently before one another. Antonie was still striving for self-command, and Eugen could find no words with which to defend himself.