Sabina von Dortmann and the son of her father’s nearest neighbor, Count Ernst von Schmundt, had virtually grown up together, both children of parents with vast holdings in the northeast of the ever-expanding German Reich. There had been other children in the farming village of Niedersdorf, of course, but none with similar aristocratic blood extending back to the proud old days at the height of the Prussian kingdom. It was natural, therefore, that the two had seen a good deal of one another, had played with each other, and had been nearly as familiar with each other’s lands as their own.

Childhood affections, however, had, on the young lady’s part, waned in recent times, exerting a gradual strain on the relationship between the parents as well.

Gustav von Schmundt drove his car back down the drive, then made a right turn. As he drove, faster than was wise on the narrow country road, he turned several resolutions over in his mind, determining at length to talk to his mother. It was not exactly the most manly tack to take, but he couldn’t take any chances even if it meant stooping that low. First, however, he had a matter in the village to attend to. When he came to the entrance of his father’s estate after some two kilometers, he continued straight ahead, arriving after not more than another three minutes in the small town of Niedersdorf. He drove about halfway through, turned left, and pulled up in front of a Wirtshaus.

Sabina found tending Matthew much more to her liking than trying to keep up a conversation with the son of the count. As soon as she reentered the house she went straight to the room where he was convalescing. As her annoyed visitor was speeding northward, she greeted the son of the American assistant ambassador.

“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked.

“Still foolish, but not in pain.”

“Why foolish?” laughed Sabina.

“Because I keep falling and tripping over myself around you. What is it anyway? I tell you, I never used to be so accident-prone!”

“You have nothing to feel foolish about. People are injured riding horses all the time. Two years ago a man was killed in Niedersdorf by his horse.”

“How?”

“He was being careless and overconfident. He forgot what powerful and sometimes temperamental creatures horses can be. All of a sudden he was on the ground and one of the beast’s hooves crushed in his skull. He was dead instantly. It was dreadful.”

“Are you saying I ought to consider myself fortunate to have only a broken leg?”

“Perhaps I was hinting in that direction,” admitted Sabina with a smile. “And look at the other side of it. You are able to remain here in the country for a longer stay.”

“What good does my lying in this bed accomplish?”