Gerlinda nodded gravely. "I told my papa; he thought it very unbecoming in a man of an ancient noble line." "But I am not of an ancient noble line, nor even of a modern one." Gerlinda looked terrified, and recoiled from him. The young man perceived it, and there was a trace of bitterness in his voice as he went on: "I have a confession to make to you, Fräulein von Eberstein, and forgiveness to ask for a deception which sprang from necessity. I reached the Ebersburg that evening wet through, and having lost my way; there was no other shelter to be found far and wide, night was falling fast, and the Baron refused me admittance because, as he would have expressed it, I was not 'of rank.' I had no choice save to be thrust out into the storm or to thrust myself into the ranks of the aristocracy, and I preferred the latter course. But I owe it to you to tell the truth. My name is simply Hans Wehlau, without any mediæval adjunct; I am a painter by profession; my father is a professor in the university here, and we are both bourgeois from head to foot." The effect of these words was annihilating; the little châtelaine sat stark and stiff as if paralyzed with horror, staring at this bourgeois Hans Wehlau who told her so fearful a tale. At last she recovered her voice, folded her hands, and said, with a profound sigh, "This is horrible!" Hans rose and made her a formal bow. "I confess myself very guilty, but I did not think that the truth would so startle you. I have, it seems, lost all worth in your estimation, and shall please you best by leaving you. Farewell, Fräulein von Eberstein." He turned to go, but Gerlinda started and put out her hand as if to detain him. "Herr Wehlau." He paused. "Fräulein von Eberstein?" "Are you not very slightly related to the Freiherr Friedrich Wehlenberg of Bernewitz? A very distant relative, I mean." "Not the most distant connection. I invented in a hurry a name that sounded like my own, and I never dreamed that it belonged to any one in reality." "Then papa never will forgive you," Gerlinda declared in a tone of despair. "You can never come again to the Ebersburg." "Do you, then, still wish me to come?" asked Hans. She was silent, but her eyes filled with tears, and this disarmed the young man's irritation. It was not the poor child's fault that she had been brought up so ridiculously. He slowly approached her again, and said, gently, "Are you very angry with me for my foolish jest? I meant no harm."