Crescenz for once in her life seemed to think, and think deeply. All Major Stultz’s efforts to continue the conversation were fruitless; she bent her head over her work, and scarcely heard his excuses and regrets that he was going to the theatre without her. After he had left the room, there was a long pause. Hildegarde had been leaning her head on her hand for the last half hour, apparently unconscious of what was going on about her. Crescenz moved softly towards her, and on pretence of consulting her about her work, contrived to relate what she had just heard. Hildegarde became so suddenly and remarkably pale, that Hamilton, who was in the habit of watching her, immediately perceived it, and exclaimed, “What is the matter? Are you ill?” “Not in the least,” she answered, hastily rising and walking to the other end of the room. “But is it not odious?” cried Crescenz, indignantly; “she is the very last person I should have thought of!” “And the very first I should have suspected,” said Hildegarde. The house-bell rang, and a slight noise in the passage was followed by the entrance of the person who had been the subject of conversation. “How very odd!” exclaimed Crescenz, while Madame Berger, advancing towards Hamilton, held out her hand, saying, “_A l’Anglaise_; how I like your English custom of shaking hands—it is so friendly! _Bon soir_, Hildegarde. Give me a kiss, Cressy. Here I am, come all in the snow on foot to talk over our first ball, eh? and to arrange the party of which we spoke,” she added, turning to Hamilton. “How provoking—and I am just preparing to go to the theatre!” “You most uncivil person! Can you not bestow half an hour on me?” “An hour—two hours, if you in the slightest degree wish it. My regrets were for myself.” Hildegarde and Crescenz look at each other. “I have not,” he continued gayly, “forgotten the pleasant evenings which I spent in your house during my banishment—they will ever remain among my most agreeable recollections.” “Perhaps I may give them a place among mine too,” said Madame Berger, seating herself on the sofa, and taking her knitting apparatus out of her pocket. Her fingers were soon in such quick motion, that it was impossible to follow them, but so expert was she in this kind of work, that her head turned in every direction, and her eyes wandered round the room as if she had been totally unoccupied. “Why, girls, what is the matter with you both this evening? I never saw you so dull. We can fancy ourselves _tête-à-tête_,” she said, laughingly, to Hamilton, “if you would only cease playing with your teaspoon and sit down beside me here.” Hamilton immediately took the offered place, and Madame Berger, half playfully, half maliciously, turned quite away from the sisters. “Well,” she continued, glancing covertly toward them; to-morrow is our first ball; “of course you have heard of our muslin dresses and wreaths of roses?”