“Crescenz! you do not hear a word I am saying,” exclaimed Major Stultz at length. “Not one word! If you wish it, we can return to the other table, and then you can watch your sister playing with the snuffers and the wick of the candle at your leisure.” Crescenz did not answer. “Perhaps,” he continued, yielding to an unconquerable feeling of jealousy, “perhaps I have mistaken the object of your attention—I do believe you are admiring the bold black eyes of that long-legged English boy!” Crescenz blushed deeply and turned away. This was stronger confirmation than he had expected, and he now continued, in the low voice of suppressed anger: “I have long suspected something of this kind, Crescenz—your mother desired me to say nothing to you about it, as she imagined you too innocent to be capable of such perfidy—I cannot, at my age, expect you to love me as I do you—but I did imagine that in time I should gain your affection—if this be not possible, tell me so at once, for I will not be made a fool of by you or any one else!” “I don’t understand you!” cried Crescenz, terrified at his constrained manner and flushed face, “I don’t in the least understand you!” “Then I will speak to your mother,” he cried, rising hastily, and pushing back his chair with great violence. “She will understand me quickly enough.” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t complain of me!” cried Crescenz beseechingly, while the tears started to her eyes. “I will do anything you please, and pay the greatest attention, if you will only promise not to tell mamma.” “Then you did understand me, and know what I was about to say to her?” he asked, frowning. “Oh, yes—you were going to tell her that I would not talk about the furniture, and that I looked at Hildegarde playing with the snuffers—and—Mr. Hamilton with his foot on the stove, instead of listening to you!”