At this moment the church bells in Munich began simultaneously to send forth loud peals. Madame Rosenberg raised herself on her pillow, and exclaimed, “What are you about, Hildegarde? Shut the window, and don’t let the cold night air into the room.” Hamilton closed the window. When he looked round he perceived Major Stultz with the sofa-cushion on his knees, offering a profusion of thanks to Crescenz, who stood smiling beside him. In a few minutes they were on their way to the Frauen church. It was crowded to excess, and brilliantly lighted, chiefly by the number of wax tapers which had been brought with the prayerbooks, and now burned brightly before each kneeling or sitting figure. The music was excellent: and as Hamilton soon observed that extraordinary devotion was chiefly practised by the female part of the congregation who occupied the pews, and that those in his vicinity who stood in the aisle amused themselves by looking around them in all directions, he by degrees followed their example, and his tall figure enabling him to overlook the sea of heads about him, he gratified his curiosity to the fullest extent. He observed that Crescenz’s eyes stole not unfrequently over her prayerbook to bestow a furtive glance on him or on Major Stultz who stood near her, but Hildegarde was immovable—her profound devotion surprised him. She spoke so much less of religion than her sister, that he had come to the erroneous conclusion that she was less religious. The burning taper threw a strong light on her bent head and clasped hands; and as he suddenly recollected some remark of Zedwitz’s about the Madonna-like expression of her regular features, he unconsciously turned to seek his friend, to ask him when and where he had so spoken. His astonishment was lost in emotion on perceiving that Zedwitz was actually not far distant from him, his whole appearance wild and disordered, his haggard eyes fixed on Hildegarde’s motionless figure. The service ended, she closed her book, and rose calmly, while Madame Rosenberg extinguished the three tapers and deposited them in her reticule. As the lights one after another disappeared, there was a universal move towards the nearest doors. Hamilton was about to follow the Rosenbergs when he felt himself drawn in a contrary direction by a powerful arm, and Zedwitz whispered, “One word before you go home;” and they were soon brought outside the church with the crowd. It was raining torrents; and several persons attempted to return again into the aisle, while they despatched messengers or servants for umbrellas. The carriages rolled rapidly away in all directions, and Hamilton in a few minutes was walking with his friend under the leafless trees in the promenade _platz_. “I am ill,” said Zedwitz, “really ill—this sort of life is not to be endured—I shall get a fever, or go mad, if I remain here.”