“All this may be amusing to you, but it spoils my confidence in others to know they wear masks. Is your name also false?” “I am Karl Hoffman, as surely as the sun shines, mademoiselle. Do not wound me by a doubt,” he said, eagerly. “And nothing more?” She smiled as she spoke, and glanced at his darkened skin with a shake of the head. “I dare not answer that.” “No matter; I hate titles, and value people for their own worth, not for their rank.” Helen spoke impulsively, and, as if carried away by her words and manner, Hoffman caught her hand and pressed his lips to it ardently, dropped it, and was gone, as if fearing to trust himself a moment longer. Helen stood where he left her, thinking, with a shy glance from her hand to the spot where he had stood,— “It _is_ pleasant to have one’s hand kissed, as Amy said. Poor Karl, his fate is almost as hard as Casimer’s.” Some subtile power seemed to make the four young people shun one another carefully, though all longed to be together. The major appeared to share the secret disquiet that made the rest roam listlessly about, till little Roserl came to invite them to a _fête_ in honor of the vintage. All were glad to go, hoping in the novelty and excitement to recover their composure. The vineyard sloped up from the chateau, and on the hillside was a small plateau of level sward, shadowed by a venerable oak now hung with garlands, while underneath danced the chateau servants with their families, to the music of a pipe played by little Freidel. As the gentlefolk approached, the revel stopped, but the major, who was in an antic mood and disposed to be gracious, bade Freidel play on, and as Mrs. Cumberland refused his hand with a glance at her weeds, the major turned to the Count’s buxom housekeeper, and besought her to waltz with him. She assented, and away they went as nimbly as the best. Amy laughed, but stopped to blush, as Casimer came up with an imploring glance, and whispered,— “Is it possible that I may enjoy one divine waltz with you before I go?” Amy gave him her hand with a glad assent, and Helen was left alone. Every one was dancing but herself and Hoffman, who stood near by, apparently unconscious of the fact. He glanced covertly at her, and saw that she was beating time with foot and hand, that her eyes shone, her lips smiled. He seemed to take courage at this, for, walking straight up to her, he said, as coolly as if a crown-prince,— “Mademoiselle, may I have the honor?” A flash of surprise passed over her face, but there was no anger, pride, or hesitation in her manner, as she leaned toward him with a quiet “Thanks, monsieur.”