"No," said she at last, "with this sacrifice I have torn every tie between us for ever. What has happened does not exist for the world, and the daughter of the thief, Brand, can never be the wife of Count Arnau." He took both her hands gently-- "Gertrud, not this bitterness. Can you not credit me with the power of protecting my wife before idle tongues?" "Your wife, perhaps, but not yourself. My real name cannot remain unconcealed, so soon as I emerge from dependence and obscurity, and I have lived in aristocratic families long enough to know what is thought on such points. They would hardly pardon you your _buergerliche_ wife, and you would suffer under the continual persecution, until you would at last be compelled to retire to the hated obscurity of private life--on my account." The Praesidentin, who had stood hitherto like one in despair, now breathed freely again at these words, which she saw were not without effect upon her grandson. He must, indeed, have himself recognized the undisputable truth of her argument, but he still strove against it. "Gertrud, at this moment, under the influence of this agitation, we cannot make any weighty decision for our future. Promise me later--" "No," interrupted she firmly, "the word of separation must be spoken now. Count Arnau, you know the relations of our country and Court better than any one else--answer me! Can your influence, your career still continue the same, if you break your connection with the nobility and with the Prince's household?" The Count looked down, unprepared for an answer. "I knew it! And now hear my last word. I shall not have made the sacrifice in vain, and, therefore, under the circumstances, I can never be your wife. Do not try to dissuade me, or to find me, it would be in vain. By this sacrifice I save your future, and that, with such a nature as yours, will be such as to dispense with a wife's love. Farewell!" An unspeakable bitterness rang in her last words, but she left him no time to reply, and erect and stately, walked towards the door; here, however, the Praesidentin met her. Deeply moved, she silently held out both hands. For an instant Gertrud took them, then disappeared in the neighbouring room. The Praesidentin went up to her grandson and laid her hand on his shoulder. "You may thank the girl's high principles, Hermann, for saving you from a folly which you would have had to repent all your life. She saves you, and us all!" The Count did not answer, his eyes were fixed on the door where Gertrud had disappeared. The Praesidentin bent down, and carefully picked up every fragment of the torn paper, then lit a candle, and held the pieces over the flame. As the last sank into dust and ashes the old lady breathed freely-- "Thank heaven! The evil is at an end!" CHAPTER IX.