But Delmar would not heed it. "Bertram will hardly dare to put himself in your way; and as for Fräulein Schommer, it is your duty as a man of honour to ask her pardon. It is not enough to see that one has been wrong,--the wrong should be confessed to whomsoever it has injured. But I will not press you. I am sure that you will do what is right, and I hope you will come to Tausens this afternoon with your cousin, who wishes to renew an acquaintance with Fräulein Schommer. And now let us speak of another matter, of the greatest interest and importance to me. You must help me to solve a mystery in which I suddenly find myself involved, and to this end I must tell you in detail all that happened yesterday." And Paul began his story, first recalling to Leo's remembrance the extraordinary reception accorded him by Herr von Heydeck,--dwelling upon the fact that the old man had mentioned his Christian name, 'Paul,' without hearing it. He then told of his visit to Dr. Putzer and of the doctor's amazement at seeing him; of his first taking him for a Count Menotti,--a name which Paul had certainly heard somewhere lately, he could not remember where; and last he gave an account of the incomprehensible phrases which had escaped the tipsy doctor during his evening visit. Leo listened with eager attention. As Paul went on he thought involuntarily of the postmaster's information with regard to his uncle's earlier life, connecting with it the strange interest which Herr von Heydeck took in Paul Delmar, the deserted room in the tower, and the old cradle. All this, combined with the tipsy talk of Dr. Putzer, suddenly aroused in Leo a suspicion, which he at first rejected as too wild and incredible, but to which every word of Paul's, as he continued, gave greater probability. When Delmar ended his recital with, "Now tell me, Leo, what do you think of this strange tale?" Heydeck had no doubt that he had discovered its meaning,--a meaning that brought disgrace to his uncle. "I will tell you, Paul," he said, "but first answer me one question. Look back to the days of your boyhood, think of your relations with your father, of his last days, and of his will. Did it never occur to you that he must have had a particular reason for the terms in which it was couched? You were his natural heir; why should he have made the express statement that he left you his property, not because you were his son, but because of your love for him, and because you were the founder and preserver of his wealth? What reason could your father have for such a will?" "I cannot tell. I have often wondered, but never have arrived at any conclusion."