Deep lines furrowed the
high forehead, and descended in broad curves from beneath the eyes till
they lost themselves in the beard. Kuno von Rieseneck was evidently a
man of strong feelings and passions, of energetic temperament, clever,
unscrupulous, but liable to go astray after strange ideas, and possibly
capable of something very like fanaticism. It was indeed not credible
that he should have done the deeds which had wrecked his life, out of
cold calculation, and yet it was impossible to believe that he could be
wholly disinterested in anything he did. The whole effect of his
personality was disquieting.
He entered the room with slow steps, keeping his eyes fixed upon his
brother. The servant closed the door behind him, and the two men were
alone. Rieseneck paused when he reached the middle of the apartment.
For a moment his features moved a little uneasily, and then he spoke.
'Hugo, do you know me?' 'Yes,' answered Greifenstein, 'I know you
very well.' He kept his hands behind him and did not change his
position as he stood before the fire.
'You got my letter?' inquired the fugitive.
'Yes. I will do what you ask of me.'
The answers came in a hard, contemptuous voice, for Greifenstein was
almost choking with rage at being thus forced to receive and protect a
man whom he both despised and hated. But Rieseneck did not expect any
very cordial welcome, and his expression did not vary. 'I thank you,'
he answered. 'It is the only favour I ever asked of you, and I give you
my word it shall be the last.
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