when Major Stultz abruptly asked him if he had been to see the summer riding-school. “Can you doubt it? It is the prettiest thing of the kind I have ever seen—the _beau ideal_ of an ancient theatre. That the tiers of seats for the spectators are hewn out of the mountain, enhances its grandeur, and makes one forget that it is only a riding-school. What a place for a tournament! or for gladiators; or what an arena for wild beasts!” “Exactly what we all said when we were there to-day,” exclaimed Hildegarde. “Yes,” said Crescenz, for the first time joining in the conversation; “we all said that; but Hildegarde and I thought of Schiller’s _Ballad of the Glove_; didn’t we, Hildegarde?” Hildegarde nodded. “It is odd enough, I thought of it too,” said Hamilton; “the tiger attacked by the two leopards; the lion rising to join in the combat—I saw it all in imagination—fancied myself the Knight Delorges, and looked round to see if no Cunigunde were there to throw her glove amid the combatants.” “Did you think of any particular person as Cunigunde?” asked Crescenz, softly, and with a slight blush. “Perhaps I did,” replied Hamilton, laughing. “Oh, I should like so much to know whom you thought of! Should not you, Hildegarde?” “If Mr. Hamilton wish to tell——” began Hildegarde. “I prefer walking up the hill into the town,” said Hamilton, springing out of the open side of the carriage. “Let us all walk,” cried Madame Rosenberg, desiring the coachman to stop; “my feet are quite cramped.” Hamilton had hoped to escape further questioning, but Crescenz commenced again as they walked along together. “Your avoidance of my question has raised my curiosity, and you positively must tell me of whom you thought in the riding-school, to-day.” “Pray, Crescenz,” said Hildegarde, “do not force Mr. Hamilton to give an answer; it must be totally uninteresting to you—remember the number of acquaintances he must have in England whose names are unknown to us.” “If it had been anyone in England, or anyone unknown to us, he would have answered my question at once, and without hesitation,” replied Crescenz, with unusual decision of manner. Hildegarde, struck with the reply, experienced herself a feeling of curiosity which greatly surprised her. She walked on in silence, and soon heard her sister continue in a very low voice— “I am sure you did not think of _me_!” “Certainly not,” he replied, in the same tone; “you are too kind and too gentle to place the life even of an enemy in such jeopardy.”