"You do not know why," he interposed, with emphasis. "You are entirely mistaken. I never sought this quarrel, but I was compelled by the Count's behaviour to call him to an account. The provocation came from him. I admit that I reciprocate his dislike, but its justification lies in circumstances of which you have no idea, and which have no connection whatever with that hour at Saint Michael!" It was the first time that he had made any allusion to the hour in question, and as he did so there was no change either in his stern voice or in his formal demeanour; he seemed to grow even more hard and stern. But his eyes dwelt upon the young Countess, who did, indeed, justify all that Hans had said of her,--she looked the heroine of a fairy legend. Standing beneath the hanging lamp that lighted the room but dimly, her half-mediæval, half-fantastic robe, a costly combination of heavy gold brocade velvet and transparent lace-like material, glistening with gems and embroidery, shimmered and gleamed with a strange lustre. But from her head, crowned with a starry diadem, there waved over her shoulders and below her waist a magnificent veil,--her unbound hair, which, falling on each side of her face, encircled it like a halo. Michael stood beyond the circle of light and gazed at the wondrous vision. He had seen her thus in the tableau, throned upon a rock,--the enchanting sorceress of the legend. In his ears had rung the sweet, alluring song, and what had terrified him had not been the dangerous rock or the depths beneath the billows, but the prize itself! He would not risk life and safety to embrace, perhaps--a fiend. He had torn himself loose from the spell with all the force of his will. And yet at this moment the old wild longing stirred again. It seemed as if one blissful moment would be well purchased at the price of life, salvation, the future; as if to be dashed against the rocks to his destruction were naught so that he might for a moment clasp his bliss in his arms and call it his. But, whilst such thoughts made havoc within him, he stood calm and cold, without the quiver of an eyelash. Hertha saw only the frigid bearing, heard only the stern words, and her words were as cold. "Since that hour we have been foes! Do not deny it, Captain Rodenberg,--no need for falsehood between us. Of all that you then told me in your anger, hate alone has survived; I should have remembered this before appealing to you. It is ill depending upon the magnanimity of an angry foe."