“I know, I know,” he cried, interrupting her. “I saw them all in the English Gardens—your chevalier Hamilton, too, galloping about like a madman; and for this reason, my most dear and beautiful cousin, I have come here now, hoping for once to see you alone. Do not look so alarmed, I am only come to claim the advice which you promised to give me on the most important event of my life.” “Not now, not now,” said Hildegarde, glancing furtively towards the end of the passage, where, in the shadow of his door, she distinguished Hamilton’s figure leaning with folded arms against the wall; “some other time, Oscar.” “What other time? I never see you for a moment alone—even at the Hoffmanns, although my good Marie is too rational to bore me with useless jealousy, does not her deaf old mother watch every movement and intercept every glance with her cold, grey, suspicious eyes? I sometimes wish the old lady were blind instead of deaf, she would be infinitely less troublesome.” “Oh, Oscar!” “Conceive my being doomed to live in the vicinity of such eyes, dearest creature, and you will pity me, at least!” “You are not in the least to be pitied—for the Hoffmanns are most amiable,” said Hildegarde, hurriedly. “But now I expect you will leave me.” “Expect no such thing! On the contrary, I expect you will invite me to enter this room,” he replied, advancing boldly towards her. “If you enter that room,” said Hildegarde, sternly, “I shall leave you there, and take refuge with Madame de Hoffmann, who, I know, is now at home.” “Don’t be angry, dearest, all places are alike to me where you are. All places are alike to me where I may tell you without reserve that I love you more than ever one cousin loved another.” “The time is ill chosen for jesting, Oscar; I never felt less disposed to enjoy anything of the kind than at this moment.” “Indeed! then let me tell you seriously that I love you to distraction.” “Oscar, even in jest I do not choose to hear such nonsense.” “By heaven, I am not jesting.” “Then, betrothed as you now are, your words are a crime.” “Be it so; there is, however, no crime I should hesitate to commit were you to be obtained by it. As to breaking my engagement with Marie, that is a trifle not worth considering; but what am I likely to obtain by doing so?” “Dishonour,” said Hildegarde, firmly and calmly. “Hildegarde,” he exclaimed, fiercely, “do not affect a coldness which you cannot feel; do not drive me to madness. My love must not be trifled with; it is of no rational every-day kind, but violent as my nature, and desperate as my fortunes.” “That is,” thought Hamilton, “exactly what she wished. If he continue in this strain she will not shut the door in his face. But I have had enough of this raving, and will no longer constrain her by my presence.” He entered the room, and closed the door.