"Calm yourself, grandmother! I know why she comes, it has nothing whatever to do with this affair. It must be deathly anxiety, indeed, which compels her to cross _my_ threshold." The Praesidentin had no time to demand an explanation of what was a mystery to her, for the servant had opened the door to show Gertrud in. The Count was right; it cost her a fearful effort to cross his threshold, and now it was at last done, she remained standing speechless, her eyes fixed on the ground, like one conscious of guilt. Her features were calm, but there was something almost terrible in the fixed look and deathly pallor, almost as if life had left them. Hermann advanced to meet her. "You wish to speak with me, mein Fraeulein?" "Yes." The word fell softly, almost inaudibly from her lips. "Alone?" "Yes." "Pardon, grandmother,--may I beg you to follow me?" He drew back the _portiere_ of the neighbouring room, and followed her in there. The Praesidentin remained behind, she went to the door and once more drew the bolt, then trod noiselessly to the closed _portiere_, and quietly drew the folds somewhat aside--Hermann was capable of anything in this mood, he must not remain unobserved. No word had as yet been spoken between the two. The Count stood, to all appearance calm, his hand supported by the table, and silently waited, but with the same bitter expression, for Gertrud to speak. She tried to do so, but was it really the deathly anxiety of which he had spoken? Her voice failed her, she could not. Hermann's lips trembled, he saw well that he must speak first. "I can guess what brings you here. You saw me come back unhurt, and tremble now for the life of my opponent. Calm yourself! Though our _rencontre_ was not altogether without effect, it was not dangerous. Herr von Reinert has a slight wound in his arm, which caused his usually sure aim to miss me. He has at present remained behind at the gamekeeper's, the doctor is with him, and not the slightest danger is to be feared." At his first words Gertrud had raised her eyes with a look almost of terror, but she now cast them down again. "I thank you, Herr Graf, for the news, but you are mistaken--it is not that which brings me here." Not that! Then it was not anxiety which had blanched her cheeks so terribly, which had given her this fixed, lifeless look--the Count's eyes lighted up suddenly as they had done yesterday evening; the bitter expression disappeared; he hastily came a step nearer. "No! What was it then, Gertrud?" She shrank back with a start; slowly he let fall his outstretched hand. The girl struggled for breath. "I came--to inform you of something. It concerns you--both of us. I am compelled to leave this house to-day; my letter to the Baronin contains an excuse--but I owe the truth to you." She had brought out the words in an almost choked voice, and at the same time strove visibly to avoid meeting his eyes. Graf Arnau drew himself up decidedly; he knew what was coming now.