“I perceive you are annoyed,” said Zedwitz, when about to leave the room; “but,” he added, quickly, while the colour mounted to his temples, “you need not be uneasy about your patient; I will bring him back as soon as possible.” “You are mistaken as to the cause of my annoyance,” said Hildegarde, with a forced smile; “I am angry with myself for having been such a fool as to prepare that soup.” “You must excuse Hamilton this time. Madame Berger is such an impertinent little person!” said Zedwitz, as he closed the door. In the meantime Hamilton had nearly descended the stairs. “I can tell you,” said Madame Berger, “that Hildegarde is in a towering passion. Did you not see her eyes flashing, and her lips grow blue? I should not wonder if at this moment she were literally dancing in your room!” “I should like to see her,” said Hamilton, stopping suddenly. “But if you go back you will have to swallow the soup as a peace-offering,” said Madame Berger. “Do you think so? Zedwitz, will you assist Madame Berger into the carriage?—I must return to Hildegarde; but I promise not to detain you more than a minute.” He rushed up the stairs as he spoke, entered without noise by means of his skeleton key, and, passing through his bedroom, was able to ascertain the partial truth of Madame Berger’s assertion. Hildegarde was walking up and down the room with flushed cheeks, talking angrily to herself, and pushing everything that came in her way. “What a fool—what an egregious fool I was—to make a fire with my own hands to warm that soup!” She kicked the leg of the table as she spoke, making the plates and spoons clatter. “If ever I warm soup for him again I hope, yes, I _hope_, I may burn my arm as I have done this time.” She raised her sleeve and looked frowningly at the suffering limb, which in fact was extremely red and covered with blisters. While she endeavoured with her handkerchief to remove the long streaks of smut which still bore testimony to the origin of the mischief, Hamilton advanced; and, scarcely conscious of what he was doing, seized her hand, and held it firmly, while he gulped down the soup as fast as he was able. It was, as Madame Berger had said, very hot; and when he had deposited the bowl on the plate, tears actually stood in his eyes from the excess of his exertions. “I feel quite warm now,” he said, turning to Hildegarde, who stood beside him in great confusion, fearing that she had been overheard, and, as usual, ashamed of her violence, now that it was over. She had covered her arm, and was endeavouring to release her hand, as he added, “You were quite right when you said it was too late for skating to-day. I shall merely drive out for half-an-hour, by way of a beginning. This sacrifice I make to your better judgment.”