Count Arnau had taken up the matter energetically at once. He took upon himself the seizure of the dead man's accounts and papers, and subjected them to a careful, personal examination, though the office which he held did not require him to do so; but they were not strict about such matters in the little town, especially when the interest of the Prince's house was at stake, and thought a man of the Count's position and influence was quite justified in interfering in such matters, added to which, they considered it only natural that the Count, whose pardonable indulgence had delayed the discovery some days, and thereby probably caused the loss of the money, should now redouble his efforts to make it good. But all his zeal remained without result, neither he, nor the police officers of the town (though it must be confessed that the latter were by no means gifted with extraordinary intelligence), succeeded in finding any trace of the missing sum, or even the smallest allusion to the disposal of it in the official and private papers of the deceased. He must have first secured it, and then hoped to avoid the inevitable discovery by instant flight, asking, in the first place, merely for permission for a few days' absence, to cover the first few days' disappearance, and the boxes stood ready for his departure, when his deserved fate overtook him. Count Arnau confirmed on oath the declaration he had already made, and with this the matter was at an end. No further examination followed. The unfortunate man was buried as quietly as possible, and his widow, with her child, left the town, where their name would henceforth be branded with shame. The income which her husband's office had kept up was, of course, no longer forthcoming, and the little property he possessed was seized, though it did not cover more than the smallest part of the embezzled sum. So ended the drama, at least, so far as the town here was concerned. CHAPTER II. "I do wish, Eugen, you would make up your mind. What is the good of all this doubting and fluctuating?" The young man to whom these words were addressed, lifted his head slowly and said in a tone of unconcealed bitterness-- "I wish you knew what such a conflict was, then you would understand how difficult decision is!" "I don't think I should. If my whole future lay on one side, and a youthful love affair, already half cooled down, on the other, there would be no conflict at all in my case, but simply necessity, which I should bow to, at any price." "And if it cost the breaking of a heart?"