Gertrud sat down, leaning her head on her hand. So they had come to an end at last, these much-feared fourteen days of intercourse, and, on the whole, had passed away better than she had hoped. No one had in any possible manner made any hindrance to her manifest desire for retirement. The Praesidentin had a somewhat out-spoken antipathy against "Mademoiselle Walter," and Antonie, though she had not the slightest suspicion of any former relations with her husband, by no means loved the presence of this _gouvernante_, who had the impertinence to be so beautiful, that even she, aristocratic lady as she was, felt herself put in the shade so soon as Gertrud even appeared. After the stormy surprise of the first moment, Eugen seemed to have come back to his senses, perhaps he also feared his wife's jealousy; in any case, he seemed to understand better how to control himself than in the first sudden meeting, and when they saw one another, which happened usually only at table, and in the presence of others, his demeanour was as distant as hers could be. And Count Arnau? He had kept his word, and given Gertrud no cause to offend him again. There was an iron consistency in the way with which he seemed to ignore her completely after their last conversation; not a word, not a recognition did she now receive from him, not the slightest, most unimportant attention, accorded even to persons in such a dependent position. The governess appeared no longer to exist for him, and when he was obliged to acknowledge her presence by a cold, forced bow, he did so with manifest reluctance. Certainly this was what she from the first had hoped and striven for, now she had obtained her desire, and all the rest of her difficulties were coming to an end. The day after to-morrow Baron Sternfeld, with his wife and children, would return to his estate; the rest would return to the capital, the party would be broken up--it was to be hoped never to meet again, as far as some were concerned. Gertrud gave a deep sigh of relief at this thought, or rather endeavoured to do so, but a heavy weight still seemed to be upon her heart, and she clasped her folded hands closer together in wild pain. The young girl had grown much paler these few weeks, and the shade did not lie as of old in her eyes, it was effaced, forced into the background by another expression. There was an anxious unrest, a tormenting pain to be read there now, and the firmly-pressed lips seemed to hold back some secret, which she hardly dared to speak of, even to herself. She took her book and tried to read, but she could not. She opened it in the middle, at the end, in vain. Her eyes wandered over the words without taking in the sense; her thoughts were too strong to be banished. With a passionate movement, which betrayed the hidden conflict within, she at last threw it down, and hid her face in both hands. "Gertrud!" She sprang up with a look of terror. "Herr von Reinert! You here!"