“But the ring was still on my finger, and perhaps she thought——” “What?” asked Hamilton, laughing, as he followed Hildegarde, and obtained the piece of cake which he requested. Madame Lustig, who did not perceive his vicinity, observed to Dr. Berger, “Your wife is getting on at a great rate with that young Englishman to-night.” “It’s a way she has,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders, “opposition only makes her worse, so I generally pretend not to see her. At all events, I have discovered long ago that the Englishman’s heart and thoughts are elsewhere, even when he is apparently completely engrossed in my Lina.” Hamilton looked at Hildegarde, and thought he perceived something like a smile playing around the corners of her mouth as she turned away; he walked slowly to his seat, and began to eat his cake with an earnestness which soon became offensive to his lively neighbour. “I suppose she forbade you talking anymore to me?” she observed, after some time. “Do you mean Madame Lustig?” “Madame Fiddlestick!—you know I mean Hildegarde.” “She did not speak to me.” “Perhaps a look was sufficient?” “She did not look at me.” “But you looked at her?” “Undoubtedly—I like looking at her—and at you, too, if you have no objection.” “I see I shall be obliged to complain of you to the Doctor—and I tell you he is horribly jealous at times!” “How very considerate of him to stand with his back to us all this time,” said Hamilton, laughing; “one would almost think he did it on purpose! But see, the children are coming to say good-night, and the Hoffmanns seem to be going——” “I suppose the Doctor will insist on my going, too!” said Madame Berger; “he has no sort of consideration for me, and the idea will never enter his old head, that I should like to go to the midnight mass with you—all.” The Doctor did insist, and the company departed together. Mr. Rosenberg at once declared his intention to go to bed; his wife said she would doze on the sofa until it was time to go to church; Major Stultz placed himself, as usual, beside Crescenz and her work-basket, and began a whispered conversation, which, however, in time perceptibly flagged, for Crescenz’s fingers moved more quickly than her tongue—the monotony of his own voice on the otherwise unbroken stillness in the room naturally produced drowsiness, with which the Major long and valiantly combated—but it was in vain he endeavoured to sit bolt upright in his chair, occasionally staring wildly around him. After having made a succession of sleepy obeisances, of such profundity that Crescenz’s demure smile almost verged into laughter, his arms sank at length heavily on his outspread legs, his head sought support on the uncomfortable low back of his chair, his jaw fell, and the long-drawn breathing degenerated into snores both loud and long.