“He told you that, and the names also?” “Certainly; he did not conceal the slightest circumstance, related all the conversations and adventures—no book could be more amusing! His first love was a daughter of a Captain Welden—there were four daughters, and they all took a fancy to him at the same time—the youngest was much the prettiest, and so——” “Excuse my interrupting you,” cried Hamilton, “but really I cannot endure to hear you talk in this light manner—Count Raimund must be a fiend incarnate, if he can change you so completely in one day!” “Indeed, I do think Hildegarde is changed,” chimed in Crescenz: “I never heard her talk so oddly before—and oh, Hildegarde, do you remember how hardly you judged Mr. Hamilton, when you only suspected that he—that I—I mean we—on account of Major Stultz, you know? Oh, think of all you said in Berchtesgaden!” Crescenz’s eloquence did not seem to make much impression on Hildegarde—she merely shook her head impatiently. “I find I have altogether mistaken your character,” said Hamilton, approaching her, and leaning his elbow on the stove, “altogether mistaken, it seems.” “How do you mean?” “I thought that, if from a false and romantic idea of generosity or liberality, you could be induced to overlook conduct like Count Raimund’s, you would at least be shocked to find him boasting of his villainy, and throwing the blame on his victims.” Hildegarde blushed so deeply that it must have caused her acute pain—she threw herself into a chair, and turned away. “Mr. Hamilton is quite right,” said Crescenz, “it was not honourable of Count Raimund to throw the blame on Captain Welden’s daughter, who, I dare say, was not the first to propose a rendezvous—and then to repeat everything and laugh! Oh! Hildegarde, he may be very amusing, but he cannot have a good heart!” She bent down towards her sister, and added in a whisper, “Mr. Hamilton would never have acted so!” “Mr. Hamilton is, most probably, in no respect better than other people,” replied Hildegarde, quickly, but without turning round. “Why, Hildegarde, you seem to forget that you said only yesterday—that he was superior to other people—so like somebody in a book you know, the hero who was too perfect to be natural, because he never was angry or——” “Crescenz!” cried Hildegarde, literally bounding from her chair, “are you purposely trying to irritate me? or are you really what Lina Berger has often called you, a simpleton—a fool? Anything so nonsensical or silly as your remarks, I never in my life heard!” “Now, Hildegarde, don’t be angry, you know these were your own words.” “I shall in future carefully avoid making any remark to you which I do not intend to be repeated to the whole world,” said Hildegarde, walking up and down the room, and speaking hurriedly. “Everything that I say is misunderstood, and stupidly brought forward in the most provoking manner! Until to-night, I had no idea of your excessive silliness!”