“But the old Countess does take baths,” continued the chambermaid, “and finds great benefit from them, too. The Count is a favourer of Preissnitz and the Water Cure; and when he does not go to Graefenberg, all places are alike to him where water is good and in abundance.” “And his daughter?” asked Hamilton, now convinced that he had found A. Z. “Oh, his daughter springs from her bed every morning into a tub of cold water with a great sponge in it, to please him; but I never heard of her having sweated, or——” “Her having what?” “Sweated! The Count sent his bed and tubs here the day before he came, and his servant Pepperl must tie him up every morning.” “You never heard of mademoiselle’s being tied up by Pepperl?” asked Hamilton, gravely. “I believe she never had the rheumatism; but one day, when she had a headache, I saw her sitting with her feet in a tub of cold water, and wet towels around her head.” Some one just then knocked gently at the door. “Come in!” cried Hamilton, and, to his no small surprise, Crescenz appeared in the doorway. She blushed, and so did he, and then he blushed because he had blushed; and to conceal his annoyance he had assumed a cold, haughty manner, and waited for her to speak. She stammered something about a reticule and pocket-handkerchief, as, with the assistance of the chambermaid, she moved his carpet-bag, and shook his cloak in every possible direction. Nothing was to be found, and she was just about to leave the room when Hamilton perceived the lost property under his dressing-case. As he restored it, and held the door open for her to pass, he took advantage of the opportunity, and returned her former curtsy with an obeisance so profound that it amounted to mockery; and as such she felt it, too, for the colour mounted through the roots of her hair, suffusing with deep red both neck and ears as she bent down her head, and hurried out of the room, followed by the chambermaid. Hamilton was so shocked at his rudeness that he felt greatly inclined to run after her and apologise; and had she been alone he would certainly have done so, for it directly occurred to him that she had come herself to seek her handkerchief in order to have an opportunity of explaining to him the cause of her sudden and extraordinary change of manner. This made him still more repent of his puerile conduct, and wish he had spoken to her. He looked out of the window to see if he were likely to meet her should he perambulate the much-talked-of cloister, but instead of the rising moon, angry thunderclouds were rapidly converting the remaining twilight into darkest night. His hopes of a romantic interview and explanation were at an end; there was no chance of moonlight, and the acquaintance was much too new to think of a meeting in thunder and lightning! The supper-table seemed a more eligible place, and, spurred both by contrition and hunger, he determined to repair to it with all possible expedition.