"I will not disturb your first meeting with your _braut_," said he, laying a sharp, sarcastic accent upon the word. "I am going to drive back to the Castle. _Au revoir!_" With a hurried bow he left the room and gained the outer door. So that was Gertrud Walter, Eugen's betrothed, the "little Buergermaedchen," who had appeared so distasteful to his haughty friend, because she "stood in the way of a man's career, and would draw him down to her own narrow sphere." Yes, to be sure, he had pictured her differently, but what a strange contradiction between her childish appearance and the very unchildish answers which she knew how to give. Neither met with the Count's approval; on the contrary, he was vexed that he had allowed himself to be the least impressed by this girl. And then--why did she hate him? Hermann was a closer observer than his passionate friend, he knew very well that it was not fright nor fear, but actual hate, a glowing, energetic hate, which he had seen in her eyes at the mention of his name, such as he had never before seen in any woman's countenance. For what reason did she hate him? "Bah, I know how it is, Eugen must have betrayed to her in his letters, that it is I who always urge him against this match, and Mademoiselle Walter sees in me the hostile element which threatens her happiness, and therefore honours me with her hate. A pity she wastes her energies on such a small matter!" The Count's lips curled scornfully, and he mounted to the box in very bad humour, took the reins from the groom, and drove away at a sharp pace. There was a dark, defiant look in his face, as he drove the horses almost recklessly before him; but when, at the end of the village, he met two old women by the wayside, who were on the point of turning out of the way for the Count's equipage in a great hurry, they observed, to their great astonishment, that the Count drove aside and flew past, at some little distance from them. CHAPTER IV.