None of the others, however, seemed to share this suspicion, which suggested itself all the more naturally to Oswald, as he himself frequently amused himself thus at the expense of the company, for whom he felt such thorough contempt. Perhaps Bruno might have thought something like it. He was sitting by his side, more sombre and reserved than usual, and never moving a muscle to smile, even when everybody around him--Oswald included--was laughing aloud, especially towards the end of the supper, when Mr. Albert Timm began a conversation with his neighbor, Mademoiselle Marguerite, in which he mingled French and German in the most ludicrous manner. The pretty bashful Genevese girl had taken great pains to follow Mr. Timm in all his odd sayings during the conversation, turning continually with a sudden: _Que veut dire cela?_ to her neighbor on the other side; but Malte answered these questions but rarely, as he himself did not understand more than half of what the inexhaustible talker had said till the latter commenced the amusing jargon with her, breaking off, however, with great tact as soon as he saw that the pretty girl was embarrassed by the laughter of the others. It had become quite dark, when the baroness rose and invited Mr. and Mrs. Jager, who were thanking her in many words for the delightful evening they had spent, before taking formal leave, to stay and play an old-fashioned game of whist with the baron and herself, "such a staid old game, you know, Mr. Jager, as suits staid old people like ourselves." Malte had gone to bed. Oswald and Bruno, Albert and Mademoiselle Marguerite were walking in pairs around the lawn and in the nearest garden-walks. "You never told me yet, Oswald," said Bruno--he now called his friend, when they were alone, always Oswald simply--"whether you saw Aunt Berkow yesterday?" "Yes, Bruno." "Did she look pretty?" "As ever." "Did she send me her love?" "Of course." "Do you know, Oswald, I think Aunt Berkow is quite fond of you?" "Why, little fool?" "She was always looking at you so the other evening--so very kindly--and I don't know how--but her eyes looked brighter--and she sometimes looks at me so, when she strokes my hair, and still it was not quite the same way." "Ah, Bruno, you do not know what you are saying." "I know it very well, but I cannot express it as well as you big, clever people. I was quite jealous of you that evening, for before that she was almost most kind to me. I should not know how Aunt Berkow looks when she is fond of somebody! I know it perfectly well!" said Bruno, defiantly. "And I know more than that," he continued, after a pause. "I ought not to tell, because aunt warned me against letting anybody know; but now I think she was not in earnest when she said so." "What was that?" asked Oswald, with assumed indifference.