"And one thing more: your brother Eugen, or Ödön, as you call him, has paid the penalty of his treason with his life--" "Yes, I know it," interrupted the other; "but I am puzzled how the German and the Hungarian names--" Here he was sharply cut short. "In the first place," said the judge-advocate, sternly, "it was against all rules and regulations for you to hear anything about it, since you were a prisoner, and communication with a prisoner is treason. In the second place, I did not ask you for a lecture on philology; you are here to attend to what I have to say." Therewith he took a little pasteboard box out of a drawer. "Your brother left you a lock of his hair, which I now deliver to you." Richard opened the box. "But this is not--" he began, in great surprise, when the other again shut him off. "I have nothing more to say to you. Good morning." With this, the released prisoner was shown to the door. A little more, and he would have blurted out his astonishment at finding blond hair in the little box, whereas Ödön's hair was dark. Hastening to the railway station, Richard caught the early train to Vienna, and so made the journey all but in Alfonsine's company. She, however, took her seat in a first-class compartment, while he, as a poor released prisoner, contented himself with a third-class seat. And while the young lady was revelling in her supposed revenge, only a few yards away sat the object of her hatred, puzzling his brain over three baffling riddles. The first was: "What is the meaning of the blond lock of hair, and why _Eugen_ Baradlay instead of _Edmund_?" The second: "How is it that I am indebted to Alfonsine Plankenhorst for my freedom?" And the third: "Where shall I find Edith, and when I find her what is to be my next step?" He could solve neither of the three riddles. CHAPTER XXXII. THE SUITOR. Richard entered the Plankenhorst house with the ease and freedom of a man visiting old friends. He did not note the expression of amazement and terror--as if at sight of a ghost--with which the mother and daughter stared at him. He had eyes only for Edith, who, beside herself with joy, sprang to embrace him, stammering as she lay on his bosom: "Richard, is it really you?" The baroness was the first to regain her composure. "Edith," said she severely, turning to her niece, "I cannot understand your immodest behaviour toward this gentleman. What do you wish, sir?" she asked coldly of Richard.