this time through the window." So saying he gave one spring from the
high seat into the middle of the room.

Hartmut Falkenried, like the young heir of Burgsdorf, stood upon the
boundary line where boyhood and manhood meet, but it needed only a
glance to recognize that he was his friend's superior in every respect.
He wore a cadet's uniform which became him well, but yet there was
something in his whole appearance which seemed to be at war with the
military cut and fit. The tall, slender boy was a true picture of youth
and beauty, yet there was something odd about this beauty, something
wild in his motions and appearance, with absolutely nothing to remind
one of the martial figure and earnest repose of his father. The
luxuriant, curly locks which crowned the high forehead, were of a deep,
blue black, and the warm, dark coloring of the skin betokened rather a
son of the south than of German parentage. Neither did the eyes, which
flashed in the youthful countenance, belong to the cool, earnest north;
they were enigmatical eyes, dark as the night, and full of hot,
passionate fire. Beautiful as they were, however, there was something
uncanny hidden in their depths, and though the laughter which
accompanied Hartmut's words was free and unrestrained, it was not a
hearty, merry boy's laugh.

"You certainly conduct yourself in a very free and easy manner," said
Wallmoden, sharply. "You evidently take advantage of the fact that the
inmates of Burgsdorf think little of etiquette. I have no doubt,
however, that your father would protest against such an entrance into
the dining-room."

"He would not do it if his father were here," said Frau von Eschenhagen,
who did not seem to notice the stab intended for herself in her