“At all events,” Hamilton said to Madame Rosenberg, “you cannot treat me so like a child as to force me to take back what I have lost; but if you forbid our continuing to play, of course we must obey.” “Well, play for kreutzers or pfennings, if you like, but it is a bad habit.” The permission granted, Crescenz seemed to have lost all inclination to continue. She and Hamilton were soon after employed in building card-houses, while they kept up a sort of murmured conversation in French, possibly very interesting to them, but unintelligible to Madame Rosenberg and Major Stultz—the former had commenced knitting, the latter sat watching the varying countenance of his betrothed, as she, sometimes lowering her voice to a whisper, seemed to speak pensively, and quite forgot her occupation; the next moment, however, with childish delight, slyly blowing down the Chinese tower which had apparently cost Hamilton a world of trouble to erect. How long this occupation might have continued to interest them, it is impossible to say, for Hildegarde’s return caused Crescenz instantly to leave her place, and though Hamilton still continued to play with the cards, it was unconsciously. Crescenz’s eager inquiries of how Hildegarde had amused herself, if the Hoffmanns had pleased her on a nearer acquaintance, and if she had seen the future husband of Mademoiselle Hoffmann, were answered quickly and decidedly. “I have spent a delightful day, the Hoffmanns are the most charming people I ever met, and the bridegroom is, without any exception, the most amusing and the cleverest person in the world!” “Phew-w-w-w,” whistled Major Stultz. “What is his name?” asked Crescenz. “Count Raimund. He is our very nearest relation—our first cousin!” “Our cousin! But—but—I thought the Raimunds did not wish to know us?” “We have no right to make him answerable for the unkindness of his parents, Crescenz; and all I can say is, that he spoke at once of our near relationship, and as it was impossible to refuse to acknowledge it, we became intimate immediately. In fact, he gave me no choice, for he called me Hildegarde, and spoke of you as if he had known you all his life. He intends to call here to-morrow, to visit mamma!” “Does he?” said Madame Rosenberg, dryly. “He says you are his aunt, as you have married papa.” “It is singular he never discovered the relationship until to-day! During your mother’s lifetime, I have heard, too, that the Raimunds pretended at times to forget your father’s name. The fact is, my dear, he thought it would flatter me to fancy myself aunt to a count, although there is actually no relationship whatever, and you thought so too, Hildegarde, or you would not have repeated so absurd a remark.” Hildegarde’s face became crimson. “These were his words,” she said, with the quivering lips of half-subdued anger. “You may, of course, put what construction you please on them.”