Crescenz seemed not quite to know whether she were satisfied or disappointed. She would have liked to have been his lady-love, would have wished to imagine that he would have picked up her glove at such an imminent risk; yet his manner and words implied nothing flattering to the supposed Cunigunde; and although she did not quite understand his meaning, she knew that he had said that she was kind and gentle, and she felt that she ought to be satisfied. Not so Hildegarde; she understood well the vanity and callousness of the character sketched in a few words by Schiller; she fancied that Hamilton disliked her, and an irresistible impulse made her turn on him, and say, abruptly, “You thought of _me_!” The blood mounted to his temples, and seemed to take refuge in his hair, as he returned Hildegarde’s glance, yet hesitated in answering; but he could not deny it, and replied, after a moment’s consideration: “Thoughts are not subject to control; you have no right to make me answerable for them.” “I have no intention of doing so,” she replied; “I care too little about you to give myself the trouble of convincing you that you do not understand my character in the least. On the contrary, I confess that were you disposed to play the part of the knight, perhaps I might throw down my glove, and be glad to get rid of you on any terms.” “Even were I to be torn to pieces in your presence by the wild beasts? I did not think you were so cruel!” said Hamilton, amused at her irritated manner. “The danger for you would not be very great. You are the last person in the world to do any thing of that kind.” “Do you doubt my personal courage?” “No; but I doubt your possessing knightly feelings.” “I am, it is true, no ‘Don Quixote,’ no knight of the sorrowful countenance——” “No, indeed; you much more deserve the name of the knight of the scornful countenance—that is, if one could fancy you a knight at all.” “I have no doubt, mademoiselle, that were your fancy to form one, he would in no respect resemble me; however, we need not quarrel on the supposition of what we should have done had we been born a few hundred years sooner; it is evident you would not have chosen me for your knight—nor I—perhaps—you, for my lady-love.” “Oh, dear!” exclaimed Crescenz, “if I had thought that you two would have quarrelled, I would not have asked any questions; though I do not understand why Hildegarde is so offended at being thought like Cunigunde, who, I dare say, was the handsomest lady present.” “Your sister is not satisfied with being merely handsome; she wishes to be thought amiable also, and seems disposed to force people to say so, whatever they may think to the contrary.” Hildegarde walked haughtily towards her step-mother, and reached her just in time to hear the concluding words of what appeared to be Major Stultz’s remonstrances.