On the following morning, Bruno would have liked to return. What was the use of it all? Was he to act the fable of the little brother and sister over again, and to be the little brother who had gone in search of his sister? And what would be the result? A dreadful, agitating sight--one which he could never banish from his memory. It would haunt him in his dreams--a bloated, disfigured corpse with open mouth.

Bruno cast an injured look upon the friend who congratulated him on having slept so well, and on having thus gained new strength for the trials the day might have in store for him. Bruno looked at the intendant with feelings of anger and distrust. He felt almost certain that this man regarded the whole occurrence as a tragic drama, which would have to be mounted for the stage. It was evident to him that the intendant was using this as a study, of which he would avail himself in future scenic representations, and that he was observing his every gesture and feature, so that he might be able to instruct the actors under him; so that he might say: "Thus does one pose himself, and thus does one groan when he finds his sister's corpse-- Am I to be this puppet's puppet? No, never!"

Bruno would have liked, best of all, to have journeyed back to his mother-in-law, even if he had to succumb to her. He could convert his humility into gallantry, and, at all events, would be spared these terrible sights. But here was his friend encouraging him to neglect nothing which fraternal duty demanded of him. Oh! these people of feeling are the most abominable of mortals, for they take everything so seriously. Do they really mean all they say? Who knows? Every one in the world is merely playing a part, after all.

He must go on, and he saw what was in store for him. This terrible friend with the strong sense of duty--and, after all, he was not his friend--this man, whom he had inflicted on himself, would force him to spend days, searching for horrors which he had no desire to find. They drove on, in an ill-humor.

The intendant, finding that Bruno would formally thank him for every little service, declared:

"I beg of you, don't thank me. I am only doing my duty to my friend and to myself. You know that I once loved your sister, and that she rejected my suit."

He was discreet enough to refrain from adding that he had afterward rejected her offer, and Bruno groaned inwardly at his cruel discretion.

The intendant found Bruno quiet and reserved. Concluding that this was the natural reaction from the excitement of the previous day, he, too, remained silent. Bruno often looked at the intendant, as if he were a jailer leading him to the place of punishment. They drove on rapidly. At the different post-houses, where they stopped to change horses, the intendant would fluently converse with the postillions and the innkeepers in their native dialect. Several of them knew him.

To his great alarm, it suddenly occurred to Bruno that he had the saloon warbler with him. He was perfectly at home here, and would now have a chance to display the treasures of his dialect wardrobe, to pursue his studies, and revel in the pleasure which the rude dialect of the region afforded him.

His friend, for this was the only term by which he dared characterize him, was now in his element, and found it no easy matter to refrain from expressing his delight thereat.

At length they reached the last mountain and saw, from afar, the mirror-like surface of the lake, surrounded by gigantic mountains and sparkling in the golden sunshine.

"Do you see that maple tree, over there?" said the intendant, no longer able to contain himself, "there to the left, by the small rock--that is the point from which I sketched the painting that hangs in her majesty's music-room."

The friend had imagined that this remark might help to create a calmer mood in Bruno, so that the terrible idea of his sister's having sought her death below that very spot, might not at once obtrude itself.

Bruno looked at him with an impatient air. Every one thinks of himself, said an inner voice, and this coxcomb is now thinking of his daubs. He remained silent, however, for silence was more expressive of grief than words could be. He rubbed his eyes, for the dazzling reflection of the sun's rays on the surface of the lake had made them ache. His friend grasped his hand and silently pressed it. He had understood this fraternal heart, and his glance meant: others may think you superficial and frivolous, but I know you better.

From the landing near by, they could hear the neighing of Bruno's horses, which were there in charge of his grooms. And now, for the first time, Bruno felt a sense of shame in the presence of his servants. They, of course, knew everything, and how they must have talked about it in the tap-room. He was full of anger at the sister who had inflicted all this upon him.

The first information they received at the inn was that old Zenza had been there. She had endeavored to sell or to pawn the ring which the maid of honor had given her on the night before she had drowned herself. As they all regarded the ring as stolen, she could obtain nothing for it. It was now decided that Zenza must know more. They took a guide and walked along the mountain path that led toward her hut.

Bruno, being a huntsman, was usually a good climber, but to-day he felt as if he would break down at every step, and was often obliged to stop and rest.

His friend encouraged him, and they walked on through the sunny forest, where the light shone brightly on the soft moss, while many a hawk uttered its shrill cry overhead.

At the crossing of the roads, they encountered a party of ladies and gentlemen; they were in city dress and had adorned their hats with green branches and garlands. Bruno hurriedly stepped aside from the path. The intendant, however, was recognized by a former colleague of his, and Bruno heard him say that the guests of a little watering-place in the neighborhood were making an excursion to see the place where Countess Wildenort had drowned herself. The party passed on, and their loud and cheerful talk was heard from afar.

At last they reached the hut. It was closed. They knocked at the door. A growl was the only answer they received, and the next moment they heard some one dashing a bolt back.

A neglected looking, yet powerful man, with a wild, disheveled appearance, stood before them.

Thomas recognized Bruno at once, and exclaimed:

"Ah, Wildenort! it's well you've come. I take my hat off to you, for you're an out-and-out man. What matters one's father! When he's dying, ride off; one can't help him die, you know. Ho, ho! you're a splendid fellow. No one cares for the old lumber any more."

"What do you want of me?" asked Bruno, with tremulous voice.

"I shan't harm you; there's my hand on it. I'll do you no harm. You let the king do what he chooses and make no fuss about it, and so I shall do you no harm, for what you've done in the same line of business. You're my king. I got it out of her at the very last, that you were the one, and that, because it was you, she had helped your sister. You know what I mean, well enough. I shan't say a word. The stupid world needn't know what there is between us. Sister, king; poacher, count--it's all as it should be."

"This man seems crazed," said the intendant to the guide. "What do you want? Let go of the gentleman!" he called out to Thomas.

"Is that your lackey? Where's the one with the coal-black hair?--Let us alone," said Thomas, turning to the intendant, "we understand each other very well. Don't we, brother? You're a brother, and I'm one, too. Ha! the world's wisely arranged! You mustn't think I've been drinking; I've taken something, it's true, but that doesn't hurt me--I'm as sober as a judge. Now let me tell you what my plan is: I'll listen to reason, to anything that's fair and just; I can see that you're a decent fellow, for you come to me of your own accord."

"We wish to inquire whether you know anything of the lady in the blue riding-habit who was here?" said the intendant in the proper dialect.

"Ho, ho!" cried Thomas, "how finely he talks; but I can understand priest German, and judge's German, too. I've had enough to do with those people already. But you'd better not interfere"; and then, turning to Bruno, he added: "Let us two talk together, alone. Now listen, brother; this is what we'll do: You needn't make a count of me; all you need do is to give me servants and horses, and enough money and chamois and deer, and you'll soon see how clever and strong and hearty I am. Would you like to wrestle with me? or come out into the woods, and I'll show you that I can shoot better than you can. Now, all you need do is to give me either your sister's inheritance or my sister's, and you'll see we'll be a couple of merry brothers!"

Bruno hardly knew whether he was dreaming or awake. Some of the insolent fellow's words were clear enough to him, others he could not understand. He motioned the intendant to withdraw, and then said in a gentle voice:

"Thomas, I know you now; sit down."

Thomas seated himself on the bench, and, raising the brandy jug which he had bought with the money received for the hat, said:

"Won't you drink something?"

Bruno declining, Thomas took a long draught.

The intendant said to Bruno, in French, that there was no information to be obtained from that quarter, and that he had secretly charged the guide to hold fast to the wild fellow, so that, unmolested, they might return to the valley.

"What sort of gibberish is the simpleton talking, there?" cried Thomas, preparing to rush at the intendant. At the same moment, the guide threw himself on Thomas, and held him fast, while the two gentlemen left the hut and hurried down the mountain.

It was not until the guide again came up with them, that they paused, and Bruno ventured to draw a long breath. The guide now told them how Thomas had raged, and how he had called out for the gun which he had hidden in the wood, and that he had said he must shoot his brother-in-law.

"The best thing the fellow could do," said the guide, "would be to drink himself to death, so as to save himself from being hanged."

After some time, Bruno ventured to ask the intendant, in a whisper, whether they had not proceeded far enough with their investigation, and whether it was not best to return at once.

The intendant was silent. Bruno looked at him again with that bitter expression which might also pass for grief.

The intendant, who saw that Bruno was almost broken down, consented to return.