Guido controlled his anger; he did not dare to resent the contempt shown for him by Herwarth. He had to pay his respects to his betrothed after two days of absence,--a duty he would gladly have omitted. He offered her his hand; she placed her own within it, but withdrew it instantly. She asked one or two cold questions as to whether he had enjoyed his excursion, and then turned and continued her conversation with Leo, who did not accord him even a glance. "Come, Herr von Bertram, I am waiting for you impatiently," said Paul. Bertram obeyed, and took the vacant place beside his tormentor. "Tell me of your excursion,--you know the interest I take in all that concerns you. Egotist as I am however, I am not so selfish as to detain you long when you must be so very much fatigued with your walk. Give me only five minutes, and then when you have taken a couple of glasses of Herr Schommer's excellent punch, I will not keep you an instant longer." This was another disguised command. This man was a tyrant, who refused to allow his slave the slightest freedom of action, but Bertram obeyed. With morbid loquacity he began to tell of his excursion, of the glorious views from the Spitzhorn, and of the difficulties of the ascent. He broke off however in the midst of his discourse, having taken two glasses of punch, when Delmar took his watch from his pocket with a meaning glance; he declared he was really too tired to continue his description, and neither the request of the judge, who wanted to hear more of the ascent of the Spitzhorn, nor Uncle Balthasar's entreaty could detain him. He arose and took leave. Eva again gave him her hand, scarcely interrupting as she did so her conversation with Heydeck,--which, indeed, she had continued steadily, never paying any attention to Bertram's loud description of his mountain-ascent or of the natural beauty of the Rothwald valley. Thus passed Bertram's first meeting with Leo since the scene beneath Büchner's awning; he had suffered a fresh defeat and had left his enemy at Eva's side; the worst he had to fear had nearly occurred. Bertram had in fact had a most fatiguing walk; he was very weary, but nevertheless he tossed restlessly upon his bed. There was no sleep there for him,--he started up whenever the sound of gay laughter from the balcony reached his ears, only to bury his head again among the pillows to shut out if possible the hateful noise. And even late in the night when all was still, when nothing stirred in the rooms on either side of him, and he knew that Eva, as well as Aline and Uncle Balthasar, had retired for the night, sleep fled his eyelids. He thought with horror of his future. What would become of him if that demon Paul Delmar should reveal to Eva her entire right to recall her promise? He could not return to K----, where his debts were immense and his honour and credit both gone. How should he even live from day to day?