Everyone seemed happy excepting Raimund, who, with a flushed face and contracted brow, took the place assigned him beside his betrothed, and poured into her ear at intervals his discontented observations; her good-humoured laughing answers appearing to act like fuel on the malevolent fire burning within him. At length he suddenly started from his chair, and pleading business of importance at the barracks, he left the room with little ceremony, and negligently trailed his sword after him along the corridor. “Well,” said Madame Rosenberg, as she carved a prettily-decorated cake into neat slices; “well, we can do without him, now that the Major is here to take his place at whist or taroc, but I cannot conceive what has put him out of temper!” “Who is out of temper?” asked Madame de Hoffmann, who, as usual, had only heard the last words. “Nobody, mamma,” answered her daughter quickly. “Poor Oscar,” she added, turning to Hildegarde; “I believe he is annoyed at not being able to give such presents as your sister has received from Major Stultz. It would have been better had we not come to your Christmas fête; I had no idea it would be so splendid.” “That is a fancy which papa and mamma have in common,” answered Hildegarde; “Crescenz being a bride has made our Christmas unusually brilliant, I suppose. I dare say, however, your tree was very handsome. Why did you not invite us to see it?” “Oscar did not wish it—and he forbade my saying that this bracelet was from him, when Crescenz showed me hers. I hope he does not think I expected or wished for such presents as she has received! By-the-by, dear, do tell your mother not to make any remarks when he is a little odd at times; for mamma, who, you know, at first so wished and promoted our marriage, has lately been endeavouring, under all sorts of pretences, to break it off. If it were not for Oscar’s father’s extraordinary patience with her, I do believe our engagement would be at an end at once. I dare not tell her how sombre and dissatisfied he has become of late; she would attribute it to the supposed preference for you, which I cannot persuade her is an absurdity, although she begins to see that it is not returned on your part. Madame Berger has been endeavouring to enlighten her——” “By telling her something very ill-natured of me, most probably,” said Hildegarde, colouring. “She told us a long story about that good-natured Count Zedwitz this morning, of which I do not believe anything, excepting that he wished to marry you, and that his family perhaps were opposed to the match; and she ended by saying that you had taken a fancy to that young student, Biedermann, who is giving you lessons in German.” “Just like her!” exclaimed Hildegarde, indignantly.