Hamilton’s sledge was the subject of discussion the very first evening of his return—he of course proposed their making use of it, and assured Madame Rosenberg that she might trust herself and her daughters to his care without fear.

“Oh, dear,—I’m sure I should not be in the least afraid,” cried Crescenz.

“And yet you are the greatest coward in the house,” said her mother. “I am sure you will scream so often that Mr. Hamilton will refuse to take you a second time.”

“Allow me to observe,” said Major Stultz, his face increasing in redness as he spoke—“and I conceive I have some right to give an opinion on the subject—that I totally disapprove of Crescenz’s going out in Mr. Hamilton’s sledge.”

“Are you afraid to trust her to my care?” asked Hamilton, laughing.

Major Stultz rapped on the table with his fingers, and looked significantly towards Madame Rosenberg.

“You surely do not think I shall be so awkward as to upset the sledge?” continued Hamilton.

“I have the highest opinion of you, Mr. Hamilton, the highest opinion—where horses are concerned,” began Major Stultz, with some embarrassment, while Hamilton rubbed his upper lip to hide a smile. “Had you a carriage instead of a sledge, the case would be different, and I—but I see you understand me.”

“Not in the least,” said Hamilton, looking up in unfeigned astonishment.

“Crescenz does, however,” said Major Stultz, turning to his betrothed, whose face was suffused with blushes.

Madame Rosenberg had been occupied with little Peppy—she was arranging the broken harness of a wooden carthorse, which had been dragged somewhat roughly round the room. She now looked up, and observed in a low voice, and with a sort of expressive wink at Major Stultz, “Mr. Hamilton, being an Englishman, knows nothing about sledging rights. Keep your own counsel, and he will never think of claiming it.”

“He may claim it from whoever he pleases,” cried Major Stultz, bluntly; “but not from my Crescenz, that’s all.”

“What is it—what is my right? What may I claim?” asked Hamilton, quickly.

No one seemed disposed to explain, until at length Madame Rosenberg replied, laughing, “Neither more nor less than a kiss, which is a sort of old privilege allowed a gentleman if he drive a lady in a sledge! Now I know that from me you will not claim it, because I am neither young nor pretty—nor from Hildegarde, because you don’t like her well enough—nor from Crescenz, because she is betrothed. So really, Major, I see no reason for making such a serious face.”

“I intend to drive Crescenz myself in a sledge,” said Major Stultz; “I take it for granted she will enjoy it as much with me as with Mr. Hamilton.”

Crescenz bent her head over her work, and said not a word.

A heavy fall of snow during the night, and a clear blue sky the next day, proved most propitious; and after dinner the sledge was brought to the door. Madame Rosenberg and her son Gustle were carefully assisted by Hamilton into the light fantastic vehicle, while Hans, not unnecessarily, held the horses’ heads. No sooner were the spirited animals released than they bounded forward with a vehemence which caused Madame Rosenberg to utter an only half-suppressed scream, while the child, participating in his mother’s alarm, seized Hamilton’s arm, and clung to it with all his strength. One of the horses reared dangerously. “Gustle, you must not touch my arm or the reins!” cried Hamilton, shaking him off. “They will be quiet in a moment,” he added to Madame Rosenberg, who had closed her eyes and compressed her lips as if prepared for the worst; but notwithstanding all his endeavours, the horses pranced and danced and bounded, to the great admiration of the passers-by, while poor Madame Rosenberg sat in a sort of agony. She did not speak a word until they had reached the Nymphenburg road, but there every sledge they met increased her terrors, and at length she spoke—“Oh, dear, good, excellent Mr. Hamilton—turn back and take me home again—I know you are too good-natured to enjoy my anxiety—if it were only for Gustle’s sake, see——Oh!——Ah! The child is frightened to death almost, and no wonder! I declare if I had not come out in my slippers I would walk home—oh, pray stop—turn—before we meet that sledge coming towards us. When your horses hear the bells of the other sledges, they get quite wild! Dear, kind Mr. Hamilton, I shall love you all my life if you will only take us home again.”

Gustle, shocked by his mother’s unwonted humility of manner, and imagining himself in the most imminent danger, commenced roaring with all his might, and Hamilton turned his horses, while assuring Madame Rosenberg they were the gentlest animals in the world, and it was only the fine weather that had put them in spirits.

On their return they found a respectable-looking hackney coach placed on a sledge waiting at the door. Crescenz, her little brother Peppy, and Major Stultz were preparing to enter it.

“I will go with you,” cried Madame Rosenberg, joining them, “Gustle must not lose his drive—Mr. Hamilton’s horses are much too wild for me!”

“I thought as much,” said Major Stultz, with evident satisfaction.

“Am I permitted to ask Mademoiselle Hildegarde to go with me?” asked Hamilton.

“Yes, but you must tell her how your horses have frightened me, and you must promise to drive on the Nymphenburg road where we can see you, and you must not go farther than the palace, and back again.”

“Agreed,” said Hamilton.

“And you must on no account quit the sledge, or enter the inn.”

“Of course not.”

Hildegarde was surprised to see him so soon again. He explained, and asked her if she were afraid to trust herself to his care.

“No, I believe you drive well.”

“Rather—but I have never had a sledge until now—and they seem slippery concerns.”

“I have heard that being thrown out of one is more uncomfortable than dangerous,” said Hildegarde, laughing as she entered her room to dress herself.

The horses pawed the half-frozen snow, and were even more impatient than before—but this time no hand was laid on his arm, no stifled scream vexed his ear. Hildegarde admired the silver serpents which ornamented the front of the sledge—the silver bells which glittered on the harness, and the gay scarlet tassels which the horses flung in the air with every movement—the blue sky—the dazzling snow; and Hamilton, perfectly reassured, was soon able to prove to his horses that he no longer feared to correct them.

In a few minutes they had overtaken and passed the hackney sledge, containing the rest of the party, nor was it long before they reached Nymphenburg.

“What shall we do now?” said Hamilton. “I promised your mother not to go farther than the palace; I am sure the others are not yet half-way here; must we go home so soon?”

“Drive round and round this enclosure until they come, it will amuse us and exercise the horses,” replied Hildegarde.

They drove round several times, each time quicker than the preceding, while Hans, with extraordinary energy, cracked the pliant leather whip peculiar to sledges. Several people collected to look on, among others a carter, with an empty wagon. One of his horses was young and unbroken; as the sledge passed, it plunged, and rattled its heavy harness; Hamilton’s horses shied, dashed into the deep snow heaped up beside the road, upset the sledge, and then struggled violently to make themselves free. Hamilton still contrived to hold the reins until his servant came to his assistance, and then rushed to Hildegarde, who had been thrown to some distance. A crowd had soon gathered round her.

“Hildegarde, dearest, are you hurt?” he asked, anxiously.

“Not in the least,” she answered, laughing, while she shook the snow from her cloak, “not in the least; I was thrown at the first jerk into the fresh snow, and every time I attempted to get up I fell back again, until I received assistance, for which I thank you,” she said, turning to some strangers; and then she added hurriedly to Hamilton, “Let us go home.”

The sledge had been easily set to rights, and they once more drove off at a furious pace.

“As wild a young pair as ever I saw,” observed an officer to his wife, as they turned towards the inn to rest, and refresh themselves with a cup of coffee.

“We have disobeyed your mother,” began Hamilton, “unintentionally indeed, but——”

“How do you mean?”

“Why, she forbade our leaving the sledge on any account whatever,” said Hamilton, laughing; “now, I don’t in the least mind being lectured by her, but I confess I do not enjoy the idea of Major Stultz’s triumph. How unmercifully I shall be laughed at!”

“I don’t see any necessity for saying anything about the matter,” said Hildegarde; “if you choose to be silent, I shall never refer to the subject; in fact, I was altogether to blame, it was my proposition driving round that enclosure, and it was I who encouraged you to worry the horses, in order to show you that I was not afraid of them.”

“The carter and his young horse were to blame,” said Hamilton; “he ought not to have come so close to us; but I should be very glad to escape Major Stultz’s heavy raillery. Do you hear, Hans—you fell out of the sledge in your sleep—not even to your father must you say otherwise than that my horses are as steady as oxen. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Perhaps the fear of being questioned induced Hamilton when returning to pass the others so quickly that he did not hear their cries to him to stop and return to Nymphenburg. Perhaps the wish to be once more alone with his companion for half an hour made him urge his horses to their hardest trot: if the latter had been his object, his annoyance may be conceived when, on reaching home, just as they had begun to ascend the stairs together, gayly laughing, he perceived Count Raimund standing above them. He had seen their arrival from the Hoffmanns’ window, and rushed out under pretence of a joke, but, in reality, to waylay them. Hamilton could not conceal his vexation; he frowned, and muttered the words “Everlasting bore!” which made Hildegarde’s countenance change in a manner that irritated her cousin. “Hildegarde, I must speak to you,” he began abruptly.

“Speak on,” she said, continuing to ascend the stairs.

“I must ask you a question—and—we must be alone.”

“You are peremptory—ask differently, and per—haps I may comply with your request.”

Count Raimund grasped—not gently—his cousin’s arm—she turned round—became very pale—and requested Hamilton, in a low voice, to go up stairs—she would follow him directly.

“Do you really wish me to go?” he asked, hesitatingly. “Do you remain willingly with your cousin? Remember,” he added indignantly, “the nearest relationship cannot authorise such——”

Count Raimund made a violent gesture—Hildegarde placed herself between them, and said hurriedly, “I—I do wish to speak to Oscar,” and Hamilton instantly left them.

Directly he was gone her manner totally changed. “Your question, Oscar, and quickly,” she said, haughtily, “I have no intention of remaining on the cold staircase more than a few minutes.”

“Gently, gently, Hildegarde—you think the danger is over now your treasure is out of sight—but you see how ready he is to quarrel, with all his coolness—be careful, for——”

“Your question,” said Hildegarde, leaning against the wall, with a sigh of resignation.

“Did this a—this Englishman condescend to claim his sledging right from you?”

“No.”

“Did he not think it worth while?” said Raimund, sneeringly.

“Very probably. Have you anything else to observe?”

“Yes, false girl!” cried Raimund, vehemently, “you know this is not the case—you know this is not the case—you know he loves you—his every look betrays him; but, by heaven, if you grant him what I, your nearest relative, have so long implored in vain—his life shall be the forfeit——”

“Always threatening!” exclaimed Hildegarde, indignantly.

“It is my only means to obtain a moment’s attention from you. He little knows that to his influence alone I am indebted for every favour—for every common civility I receive from you!”

“He little knows that, indeed!” said Hildegarde, bitterly, “were he aware of it, he would soon release me from my thraldom.”

“Tell him—tell him. I desire nothing more than that matters should come to extremities. Your look incredulous, Hildegarde. Hear me, and judge for yourself. Pecuniary difficulties have often made men put an end to their existence—and you know what mine are! Add to this a violent and hopeless love, and the certainty of being obliged, in a week or ten days, to marry a person for whom I never can feel a particle of either affection or admiration!”

“But who is worthy of both!” cried Hildegarde.

“Perhaps so—I wish Marie every happiness with another—for myself,” he added, folding his arms and looking musingly down the stairs; “I wish to die, to die soon—and quickly—but not by my own hand. They say it is a fearful crime to commit suicide. Were I certain of being shot by Hamilton, I should not hesitate—he must then leave Bavaria and you for ever—but the chances are I should shoot him—I hate him so intensely that the temptation would be more than I could resist.”

“Horrible!” cried Hildegarde, covering her face with her hands. “How can you deliberately think of committing murder?”

“That’s it—that’s what I mean; you see, Hildegarde, death is my only resource; but I shudder at the thought of staining my hands with other blood than my own. The double crime is more than I can resolve upon.”

“Ah, I see now,” said she, forcing a smile; “you are only trying to frighten me, as you have often done before.”

He shook his head, and continued. “As long as I had the faintest hope of obtaining your affection, I was a different being; you might have made of me what you pleased—and I should have gained your love but for this supercilious Englishman, for you were disposed to like me at first.”

“As a relation—yes.”

“More than that—much more, Hildegarde,” cried Raimund, vehemently.

“And had I loved you more than as a cousin, what purpose would it have served? Our relationship is too near to permit of a marriage.”

“Nothing easier than obtaining a dispensation,” cried Raimund, eagerly, and in a moment losing all violence of manner and voice.

“But we are both without fortune,” said Hildegarde.

“I could quit the army. There are many situations which I could obtain. We should be poor, indeed, very poor; but what is poverty when—— Oh! Hildegarde, has this consideration caused your coldness, or are you—— What a fool I am!” he exclaimed, passionately. “She treats me like a madman from whom she would escape without witnessing a paroxysm! Go, you have tortured me—deliberately—most horribly. Go, I would hate you if I could!”

Hildegarde began slowly to ascend the stairs; as she turned to the next flight an unusual sound made her look downwards, and she perceived her cousin vainly endeavouring to suppress the fearful emotion which agitated his whole frame. A man’s tears are a phenomenon too rare to be seen unmoved. Hildegarde stopped, and held out her hand. “Oscar, dear Oscar, what I said was not in heartlessness, but in the hope of convincing you of the utter impossibility of our ever being more to each other than cousins. Think of your solemn engagement to Marie—of your promises to your father. Remember that no situation you could ever obtain would enable you to pay your debts!”

“True—most true. I was dreaming just now,” said Raimund, with forced composure. “I am sorry to have kept you so long here—in the cold. Go, Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you!”

“He is not. I shall most probably not see him until evening.”

Raimund looked up, smiled mournfully, and then rushed down the stairs.

A minute later Hildegarde was in her room; her cloak and boa almost suffocated her, and she shook them off impatiently, sank on a chair, and murmured: “What shall I do? What ought I to do? Oscar will quarrel with him—kill him, and I shall be the cause. He must leave Munich—leave us, and return to England.” Here she sprang from her chair, and walked up and down the room for a few minutes. “Is there, then, no other way of keeping him out of danger? Suppose he could be induced to go to the Z—’s? He said he intended to visit them. If he only could go until after Oscar’s marriage? A fortnight—only two weeks, and all danger would be over! I must speak to him, even if he insists on knowing everything. I wonder if he is in the drawing-room?”

He was not, nor in the school-room, and she had not the courage to seek him in his apartment. She hoped to find an opportunity in the course of the next day, although with female quickness she had already observed that he no longer sought to be alone with her, or in any way to occupy her attention. Hamilton’s motives were honourable, but he could scarcely have chosen a more judicious mode of conduct in order to facilitate their intercourse; it had already convinced Mr. Rosenberg of his indifference to his daughter just when he had begun to entertain suspicions to the contrary, and confirmed Madame Rosenberg in the idea that Hamilton actually disliked her.

After wandering about the house for some time, Hildegarde returned to her room, and endeavoured to arrange her thoughts, and her balls of coloured worsted and silks, until the return of her family. They came late, and talked loudly and gayly on their arrival. When Crescenz entered the room, she immediately exclaimed, “Oh! Hildegarde, we have had such a pleasant party—such a number of people, and such good coffee! and the Bergers. Oh dear, I was so sorry that you and——but I had almost forgotten, mamma says you must make tea directly for Mr. Hamilton, he is going to the theatre, there is an opera, and he wishes to hear the overture.”

Hildegarde pushed back her work-frame, and left the room to seek the breakfast service of highly gilt china, which Madame Rosenberg had received as a wedding-present, and which, though certainly intended by the donor to have been “kept for show,” she had latterly appropriated to Hamilton’s use, whenever he drank tea alone, and this was generally the case the evenings he went to the theatre. When she carried it to the drawing-room, she found her father, mother, and Major Stultz with him, and as she poured out the weak beverage, and arranged the plate of bread and butter, her mother continued speaking—“We thought you did not choose to hear us—but then what motive could you have?”

“What! indeed!” said Hamilton.

“The Major shouted the word Nymphenburg and coffee as loud as he could; he thought they might give you an idea what we meant.”

“We heard nothing. The confounded bells made such a noise.”

“The bells are very useful when it grows foggy, or dark, as we found this evening,” observed Major Stultz.

“Hildegarde, you may light the candles—Mr. Hamilton cannot find the way to his mouth.”

Hildegarde brought them, while Crescenz, who had joined the others, continued repeating: “So pleasant, so gay! So many people! And then about the upset—did you relate about that?”

“No,” cried Hamilton, looking up; “pray tell me about it. You don’t mean to say you were upset?”

“Oh, no! But a young Englishman and his wife were thrown out of their sledge to-day when they were driving around the palings at Nymphenburg. Captain What’s-his-name told us all about it, and they were so young and so handsome, he said.”

“Your countrymen can drive mail-coaches better than sledges,” said Major Stultz, laughing.

“It is not proved that they were English,” said Hamilton, with a smile only perceptible to Hildegarde. “They may have been Germans.”

“Zimmermann said they were certainly English, and he understands the language. The lady thanked him in French for extricating her out of the snow; he says she was quite English-looking, and uncommonly handsome!”

“I have no doubt of his judgment on that subject,” said Hamilton.

“And,” said Crescenz, “her husband seemed so fond of her, and said all sorts of things to her when he assisted her into the sledge again!”

“All sorts of things!” cried Hamilton, laughing; “such as, for instance——”

“Oh, I cannot say the English words—I have never heard you say anything that sounded like them.”

“Of course not—I must wait until I have a wife, I suppose.”

Hildegarde’s face had flushed during this conversation. Hamilton seemed so much amused with it, that he forgot the overture he had been so anxious to hear. “Your friend did not know at all who they were?” he asked, bending over his tea-cup.

“Not in the least,” answered Major Stultz; “but the lady made a great impression on Zimmermann, he seemed altogether to have fallen in love with her?”

“Oh, ho!” exclaimed Mr. Rosenberg, “what did his wife say to that?”

“She said she had no cause for jealousy, the Englishwoman did not look at anyone—she only seemed anxious to assure her husband that she was not in the least hurt, though she must have been considerably bruised, and she appeared to wish everyone else at the bottom of the sea! A good example for you, Crescenz, next month, eh?”

Crescenz looked silly, and turned away.

“Half-past six!” cried Mr. Rosenberg, looking at his watch; “I must be off. Mr. Hamilton seems to forget that he intended to go with me to the theatre. The overture will be over.”

“But not the ballet,” said Hamilton, “and the ballet in Robert is what I like best; if I be in time for that and the Princess’s aria, I am satisfied.”

Mr. Rosenberg, who went regularly four times a week to the theatre, and particularly disliked arriving late, partly from the fear of being obliged to walk over his neighbors’ feet in order to reach his chair, partly from long habits of punctuality, after a few minutes’ indulgence of civilly expressive impatience, quitted the room, bowing over his watch, which he still held in his hand, as a sort of excuse to Hamilton.

“I thought you intended to go to?” said Crescenz to Major Stultz.

“Yes, Zimmermann has given me his place to-night, but I believe I shall wait for Mr. Hamilton.”

“I shall be delighted,” said Hamilton, “but you must not expect me to leave this warm room for an hour at least.”

“An hour!” exclaimed Major Stultz; “why, half the opera will be over.”

“Very likely, but I have heard it so often.”

“Do you forget the ballet?”

“Very likely I shall,” said Hamilton.

“I knew,” cried Crescenz, “I knew he did not really care for the ballet.”

“Excuse me, but I do care for the ballet, and I should care more for it if the dancers were prettier, and had not such thick ankles!”

“Smooth waters run deep,” said Major Stultz. “It is a pity, Crescenz, your mother did not hear that speech, she would hardly have believed her own ears!”

“Why not?” said Hamilton. “Do you mean to say that you do not, or did not formerly, like seeing a ballet and pretty women too?”

“We will not discuss this subject in the presence of the young ladies,” said Major Stultz.

“There is nothing to discuss,” said Hamilton, carelessly; “I like seeing pretty faces, and pretty ankles, and graceful figures, and I believe I am not singular in my taste; perhaps, however, you prefer the flowing hair which will be exhibited to-night. By-the-by, one girl has the very longest and thickest hair I ever saw. Have you not observed it?”

“Yes; Crescenz’s, however, is nearly as long, I should think,” replied Major Stultz, touching the thick plaits which were wound round the back of her head.

“She would make a charming ballet-dancer in every respect,” murmured Hamilton in French, while he laughingly glanced at her.

“What does he say?” asked Major Stultz, who observed that Crescenz blushed and smiled alternately. “What does he say?”

“To think of his caring so much for a ballet!” answered Crescenz, evasively, while she still blushed, and then laughed as she added, “and you know all mamma said about his being religious, and not going out in the evenings, or on Sunday to the theatre.”

“I suspect your mother has a better opinion of him than he deserves,” whispered Major Stultz. Crescenz, however, shook her head so incredulously, or so coquettishly, that he added, “Do not think me jealous; it is impossible, now that I know who is the real object of his devotion.”

“Ah, you mean Hildegarde,” said Crescenz, carelessly.

“Oh, no.”

“Who then?” asked Crescenz, turning towards him quickly, curiosity depicted in every feature, “who?”

“I can scarcely tell you—as he has chosen a married woman——”

Crescenz looked aghast. Major Stultz’s jealousy conquered his usual circumspection—the moment was too favourable for making an impression—he bent towards her and whispered, “No other than your friend, Madame Berger.”

“Impossible!”

“Certain, nevertheless. When your mother forbade his returning here, he was invited to spend his disengaged evenings at her house. He knows the Doctor well; besides, Berger is Zedwitz’s physician, and they have often met lately. Had the thing been feasible, Hamilton would, I have no doubt, have taken up his quarters in their house!”

Crescenz for once in her life seemed to think, and think deeply. All Major Stultz’s efforts to continue the conversation were fruitless; she bent her head over her work, and scarcely heard his excuses and regrets that he was going to the theatre without her. After he had left the room, there was a long pause. Hildegarde had been leaning her head on her hand for the last half hour, apparently unconscious of what was going on about her. Crescenz moved softly towards her, and on pretence of consulting her about her work, contrived to relate what she had just heard.

Hildegarde became so suddenly and remarkably pale, that Hamilton, who was in the habit of watching her, immediately perceived it, and exclaimed, “What is the matter? Are you ill?”

“Not in the least,” she answered, hastily rising and walking to the other end of the room.

“But is it not odious?” cried Crescenz, indignantly; “she is the very last person I should have thought of!”

“And the very first I should have suspected,” said Hildegarde.

The house-bell rang, and a slight noise in the passage was followed by the entrance of the person who had been the subject of conversation. “How very odd!” exclaimed Crescenz, while Madame Berger, advancing towards Hamilton, held out her hand, saying, “A l’Anglaise; how I like your English custom of shaking hands—it is so friendly! Bon soir, Hildegarde. Give me a kiss, Cressy. Here I am, come all in the snow on foot to talk over our first ball, eh? and to arrange the party of which we spoke,” she added, turning to Hamilton.

“How provoking—and I am just preparing to go to the theatre!”

“You most uncivil person! Can you not bestow half an hour on me?”

“An hour—two hours, if you in the slightest degree wish it. My regrets were for myself.”

Hildegarde and Crescenz look at each other.

“I have not,” he continued gayly, “forgotten the pleasant evenings which I spent in your house during my banishment—they will ever remain among my most agreeable recollections.”

“Perhaps I may give them a place among mine too,” said Madame Berger, seating herself on the sofa, and taking her knitting apparatus out of her pocket. Her fingers were soon in such quick motion, that it was impossible to follow them, but so expert was she in this kind of work, that her head turned in every direction, and her eyes wandered round the room as if she had been totally unoccupied. “Why, girls, what is the matter with you both this evening? I never saw you so dull. We can fancy ourselves tÊte-À-tÊte,” she said, laughingly, to Hamilton, “if you would only cease playing with your teaspoon and sit down beside me here.”

Hamilton immediately took the offered place, and Madame Berger, half playfully, half maliciously, turned quite away from the sisters. “Well,” she continued, glancing covertly toward them; to-morrow is our first ball; “of course you have heard of our muslin dresses and wreaths of roses?”

“No,” said Hamilton, “I only returned here yesterday evening, and have heard nothing about it. Where is the ball?”

“At the Museum. You are a member of the club, I believe—it is there you read the foreign newspapers, you know. I shall keep a waltz or galop for you.”

“To-morrow, did you say? and I am invited to a private ball at Court! If it were only the day after!”

“This all comes from cholera!” cried Madame Berger, in a tone of vexation. “Everything heaped together at the end of the carnival! There is to be a masquerade at the theatre on Monday; you said you wished to go to one; let us at least arrange something about that.”

“Can you not promise to be of the party?” said Hamilton, turning to Hildegarde.

“It will altogether depend upon papa,” she answered coldly, and then left the room without looking towards the speakers.

“Come here, Crescenz,” said Madame Berger, “come here, and I will tell you how we can manage it: your mother intends to go some day or other to see her father. Why not on Monday, if Mr. Hamilton offers his sledge?”

“Oh, she is so afraid of his horses, that nothing would tempt her to take them.”

“Well, then, the Doctor must lend his old greys, for on Monday both she and your father must be out of the way. Don’t be so stupid as to say this to Hildegarde, however!”

“Oh, mamma will never trust us with you alone,” said Crescenz.

“I suspected as much, and have engaged old Lustig to go with us; she will do whatever we please, and I have promised to arrange a ‘bat’ for her like my own; we will all go as bats. Shall we be black or white?”

“Which is the most becoming?” asked Crescenz.

“Becoming! why, child, I do believe you don’t know what I mean. A bat as mask means a domino so arranged that one cannot see even the form of the head, the smallest lock of hair, or even quite know whether the person be a man or woman.”

“I thought we should have had something pretty,” said Crescenz, disappointed, “such as Grecian costumes.”

“You may dress yourself as a Greek or a Turk, if you like, but you may be recognised and tormented. For my part, I go to worry others, and have decided on a black domino—a complete capuchin; Mr. Hamilton and Madame Lustig the same; you and Hildegarde may of course arrange as you please.”

“Oh, dear! I am afraid Hildegarde will not go without asking papa’s leave.”

“Don’t say a word more about the matter to her; she will think we have forgotten it, and—when papa and mamma are gone, I will come and arrange everything.”

“Oh, dear, how nice!” cried Crescenz, seating herself confidentially beside her friend, but a moment after she sprang up, assumed a dignified air, and walked towards the door.

“You don’t mean to leave us, Cressy?” exclaimed Madame Berger, surprised.

“I am going to tell mamma that you are here,” she replied, stiffly.

“Oh, my dear creature, she has heard from Walburg long ago. She is engaged with the children, or counting linen, or something of that sort. Stay here like a love, and play propriety.”

“But I don’t choose to play propriety,” said Crescenz, angrily, as she left the room.

Madame Berger looked amazed for a moment, and then burst into a fit of laughter. “I do believe the child is jealous!” she exclaimed. “How ridiculous! how amusing! I wish it were Hildegarde—I would give—what would I not give to make her jealous for half an hour! It would be sublime! Theodor could assist me if he chose.”

“You think she likes him?” said Hamilton.

“He says not, but I can discover no other person. Can you believe that she cares for no one?”

“She cares a great deal for her father?” answered Hamilton.

“Ah, bah—a person of her violent temperament must have a grande passion before this time.”

“I have not lately seen anything like violence,” said Hamilton.

“A certain proof that she is desirous of pleasing some one.”

“I should have no objection to be the person she is desirous of pleasing,” said Hamilton; “she is perfectly amiable with her father; should she bestow one of the looks intended for him upon me, I confess I should be——”

“And has she really never tried to make you say civil things to her?” asked Madame Berger, quickly.

“On the contrary, she has provoked me to say very uncivil things sometimes.”

“And so you have been obliged to amuse yourself with poor simple Crescenz?”

“Who,” said Hamilton, “is the most innocent being in the world—a pretty child——”

“A pretty fool!” cried Madame Berger, “but let us talk of our masquerade—you will go at all events?”

“Certainly.”

“And dressed in black—and masked?”

“Agreed.”

“You have no idea how amusing it is! One can say all sorts of impertinent things—even to the royal family when they are present. Masks are allowed perfect impunity.”

“But should you be discovered afterwards?”

“I shall deny knowing anything about the matter, of course.”

Hamilton had not time to reply by word or look, for at this moment supper was announced.