Madame Rosenberg was herself always the last to appear; she generally dressed her children, and had a long consultation with her cook before she went out. Hamilton found the rest of the party, with the exception of Hildegarde, assembled in the drawing-room, and it was not long before he observed that Crescenz was making him the most unaccountable signs and grimaces. He approached her, apparently occupied in forcing his fingers into a tight glove, and said in French, “Why are you making such horrible faces?” Crescenz laughed good-humouredly, but while pretending to look at his glove, answered hurriedly: “Hildegarde is at the Hoffmanns to return the book to Count Raimund. Go—go for her before mamma comes.” He left the room, descended quickly the flights of stairs, stood before the Hoffmanns’ apartments, and rang the bell. He now regretted not having as yet visited them, for though he would have particularly liked to see how Hildegarde and her cousin were occupied, he could not make his appearance for the first time so unceremoniously, and was, therefore, obliged to send in the servant with a request that Mademoiselle Rosenberg would return home immediately. He thought he heard Hildegarde speaking as the door opened, and perceived, from the sound of the moving of chairs, that she was taking leave at once. Not wishing to be seen, he left the passage where he had been standing, and retired to the landing-place on the stairs without. Hildegarde was accompanied by her cousin, who spoke French, that the servant might not understand him: “Adieu, dearest Hildegarde; your step-mother may forbid me her house, but she cannot change the course of nature, and prevent our being cousins. I shall see you here, and often; promise me that at least.” Hildegarde was about to answer, when she perceived Hamilton. The two young men bowed haughtily, mutual dislike legible in every feature. “I suppose I may accompany you to the door, Hildegarde, even if it be closed against me.” “It is quite unnecessary,” she replied, moving up the stairs, evidently endeavouring to get rid of him. Raimund, however, followed, and, before he turned to descend, gently took her hand and kissed it, with a mingled expression of respect and admiration. Hamilton scarcely waited for him to be out of hearing, before he observed: “This, I suppose, is the most approved manner for cousins German.” “It is less remarkable than the manners of cousins English,” replied Hildegarde. “I have not forgotten your meeting with yours at Salzburg.” “That was after a separation of several months, and——” “Yes; but it was something more than hand kissing, which means nothing at all, you know, and, I hear, is rather going out of fashion.” “And yet it is a pleasant fashion,” said Hamilton. “I never kissed anyone’s hand, but should have no objection to make a beginning now.” Hildegarde held out her hand without a moment’s hesitation.