'My wife cannot bear the sight of blood,' observed Greifenstein, who
had lowered the newspaper and was looking over his glasses at his
cousin's hand.

'The wound is not dangerous,' she answered with an attempt to smile,
but her eyes fixed themselves on Greifenstein's with a look of anxious
inquiry.

'He will come back,' he said, in a low voice, and the colour slowly
left his face.

'Do you think it possible?' asked his cousin in the same tone.

'It is certain. He is included in the amnesty. He has hoped for it
these many years.'

'Even if he does--he will not come here. You will never see him.'

'No. I will not see him. But he will be in Germany. It is for Greif--'
he stopped, as though he were choking with anger, but excepting by the
pallor of his stern features, his face expressed nothing of what he
felt.

'Greif will live here and will never see him either,' said Frau von
Sigmundskron. 'Besides, he does not know--'

'He knows. Some student told him and got a sabre cut for his pains. He
knows, for he told me so only yesterday.'