He fought between anger against Hermann, and shame at the painfully humiliating situation in which he found himself, in which, indeed, his friend had placed him. The Countess was the first to speak. "I regret, Herr Reinert, that I have only this moment become aware of your engagement through my cousin, or I should have congratulated you long since." The icy glance and freezing tone roused Eugen from his insensibility, and he made an attempt to hurry towards her, "_Um Gotteswillen_, Antonie, not that tone!" With a look of the proudest contempt she drew back. "Sir, you seem to forget that you are addressing Countess Arnau." Neither words nor expression could have been chosen, which could convey more scorn, Eugen turned pale, his self confidence returned and gave him back new courage, deeply offended, he retired a step--"Pardon, _gnaedigste Graefin_![3] I believe it is the first time that you have found it necessary to remind me of the gulf between us, and I give you my word that it shall be the last." He bowed and strode towards the door, Antonie looked after him waveringly. She felt she had gone too far, and that she at least ought not to have spoken thus, and quick in repentance as in anger, she called him back. "Reinert!" He half turned. "What are your commands, _gnaedigste Graefin_?" But the passionate woman's pride and self command had come to an end alike, she had never possessed more than a small share of either. Accustomed to give way to every outbreak of feeling, she sank down on the sofa and burst into a violent fit of weeping. Eugen heard this, and stopped; he looked back, saw the beautiful tear-wet countenance turned towards him, and the next minute he was by her side. "You are crying, Graefin? May I speak to you? Antonie, will you condemn me unheard?" This time no hard refusal followed his confidential tone. She looked up at him, fighting between love and anger, but Eugen saw that he might now dare to justify himself, and did not hesitate to do so. "Yes, it is true I am bound, and this bond has become the curse of my life. When I returned to my native town some years ago, I saw once more a young girl, who had been a playfellow of mine. She was an orphan, scarcely beyond childhood, I thought I loved her, and her guardian urged me to declaration--so she became my _fiancee_. It was a step too hastily taken, but I wore the chain, and would have worn it patiently to the end. Then I came here and saw you, Antonie, and from that moment began the long fearful conflict between duty and passion. I must tear myself away from you, indeed, from every remembrance of you, if I would not succumb to this. Let my talent, let my whole future perish in that narrow confined sphere, let me know despair in an empty, joyless marriage--what is art to me, what, indeed, life itself, if I must renounce you!"