"Ah, get away with you, and don't talk nonsense," resumed Marie, as she tried to withdraw her hand, which he had taken, blushing highly at the same time. She had never appeared so pretty in his eyes as at this moment. Bertha's serious face, in proportion as this flirtation increased, lost its attraction in his estimation, the balance of his devotion was all in favour of the animated Marie, who now sat before him in all the bloom of blushing beauty. Bertha having slipt out of the room, Marie escaped the tender grasp of Dieterick's hand, and profited by this opportunity to turn the subject of the conversation. "There she goes," she said, as she looked after her cousin; "I would wager she is going to her room to weep again. She cried so violently yesterday, that it has made me also quite melancholy." "What is the matter with her?" asked Dieterick, with interest. "I am as ignorant of the cause of her grief as ever," answered Marie; "I have asked her over and over again; but she only shakes her head, as if there was no hope left. 'This unhappy war!' is all she ever gave me for answer." "And is old Lichtenstein still determined to take her back to his castle?" "Certainly," answered Marie; "you should have heard how the old man swore yesterday, when the confederates entered! Well, he is devoted to his Duke, heart and soul, so he may go, with all my heart. As soon as war is declared, he intends taking his departure with her." Herr Dieterick appeared very thoughtful; he rested his head upon his hand, and listened to his cousin in silence. "And only think," she continued, "yesterday, after the entrance of the leaguists into the town, she wept more than ever. You know she was always serious and melancholy; but as if that circumstance were to decide the fate of the war, she is now quite disconsolate, I don't believe it is the idea of leaving Ulm that affects her; but I suspect," she added, mysteriously, "she has some secret attachment at heart." "Yes, I have long remarked that," sighed Herr Dieterick; "but how can I help it?" "You! how can you help it?" laughed Marie, all signs of sorrow on Bertha's account vanishing from her face at these words. "No, indeed, you need not flatter yourself that you are the cause of her suffering. She was in this state long before you ever saw her." The worthy secretary was very much put out by this assurance. He thought in his heart that a farewell from him was the real cause of Bertha's state, and her care-worn countenance at this moment almost regained the preponderance in his changeable heart. Marie went on to deride his conceitedness, when all of a sudden he recollected the main object of his visit, which he had lost sight of during the conversation. Marie sprang up with a scream of joy, as her cousin imparted to her the news of the ball.