Ottilie was greatly agitated as she bade farewell to her son, and, bathed in tears, threw her arms round him again and again, but the boy's peculiar nature was proof even against his mother's distress. True, his little mouth quivered, and his breast heaved with a suppressed sob, but no tears came into his eyes, and he submitted mutely to the caresses lavished upon him, till at last the Count became impatient, and drew him away from his wife's arms. But as he did so, Hermann suddenly drew back, with unconcealed dread, indeed, almost horror, from the father's caress, and the Count was only too well aware of it. A deep flush rose to his brow, he seized the boy's hands, pressing them fast in his, and drew him thus towards him, with apparent gentleness, but in reality with no little force. This time Hermann made no resistance, and no cry of pain escaped his lips, though the pressure of his father's hands must have hurt him, but he clenched his little teeth, and his face wore such an aspect of dark defiance, that his father suddenly loosened his hold and pushed him away. But the glance which met the boy's eyes was so fearfully threatening, that the Praesidentin involuntarily threw her arm protectingly round the child. "Adalbert!" He turned round quickly, and a momentary glance passed between them, unobserved by any one else. The Countess still lay sobbing on the sofa, and when the servant entered the Count had recovered his usual equanimity, and offered his mother-in-law his arm. "Calm yourself, Ottilie! We are only giving up Hermann to his grandmother, who will look after him well." There was something like oppression in the tone of these harmless words, and his glance sought the Praesidentin's, who returned it unswervingly. "Do not be the least anxious, Adalbert," replied she shortly, "whatever I undertake I can answer for." Some minutes later the travellers were seated in the carriage; the Count, who had accompanied them to the door, bowed farewell, and retired from the carriage door, above which the Countess's tearful face appeared at the window, waving her handkerchief. As the carriage rolled away, the Praesidentin gave a sigh of relief, and drew the boy convulsively towards her, as if she had just rescued him from some great danger. He hid his head on her shoulder, and, for the first time, burst into tears, and sobbed bitterly. The guilt and suicide of the steward, Brand, had brought the whole town, usually a quiet, sleepy place, where anything of importance seldom happened, into a state of great agitation. The event excited so much the more stir, as the opinion which the old servant had expressed to the doctor, on hearing of the disaster, was one which represented the town in general. All thought any other person capable of the deed, sooner than Brand, who had been everywhere considered a most capable and clever man of business, as well as a pattern of conscientiousness, and faithfulness in duty.