Crescenz and her sister continued to walk up and down, talking earnestly, and so often bestowing a look on the “overgrown schoolboy,” that he felt convinced he was the subject of discourse. Their brothers soon after joined them, and a very outrageous game of romps ensued between them and Crescenz. Hildegarde still turned towards the lake, her eyes fixed on him and his boat. “Perhaps,” he thought, with the vanity inherent to very young men—“perhaps she regrets her rudeness to me last night. I like her all the better for not playing with those unmannerly boys; and at supper, too, I observed that, although strongly resembling her sister, she is infinitely handsomer!” He rowed to the landing-place, moored the boat, and approached her quietly; but it did not require long to convince him that he had not been in the least degree an object of interest to her, for she still gazed on the lake, though his bark no longer floated on its surface, and not even the sound of his voice when he spoke to her sister could induce her to turn round. He looked at his watch, and found that by the time he had breakfasted he might prepare to visit A. Z.—that is, learn what chance he had of making a useful or agreeable acquaintance. He inquired for the landlady, and found her in the kitchen sending forth detachments of coffee and rolls to the garden. To his great surprise and pleasure, she ordered his breakfast to be carried to the arbour, where the Countess Zedwitz and her daughter were breakfasting, saying it was the only place unengaged in the whole garden. With mixed feelings of anxiety and curiosity he followed. While it was being deposited on the table, he observed that a question was asked by a comfortable-looking dowager, and the answer seemed satisfactory, for she nodded her head and then looked towards him. He bowed, and was received with a good-humoured smile. “She knows me,” he thought, “and this is A. Z.” It did not, in fact, signify—but—he would have preferred the daughter, who, although not in the least pretty, had a merry expression of countenance, and looked so fresh that he involuntarily thought of the tub of cold water out of which she had probably sprung half an hour before. “I fear, madame, you will think me an intruder,” he began, with an affection of diffidence which he was far from feeling. “Oh, by no mean,” cried the elder lady, in English, nodding her head two or three times; “by no mean! You are an Englishman; I am very glad to have occasion to spick English. Man lose all practice in both! I estimate me very happy to make acquaintance with you.”