Madame Rosenberg made her appearance at this moment, in a state of ludicrous distress; she had tried to force her large hands into a pair of small French gloves. One, from its elasticity, had been drawn somewhat over the half of one hand, leaving the other half and the wrist quite bare; but the other had burst asunder across the palm, and she now held it towards her husband, with a look of mock despair. “Try another and a larger pair,” he said, laughing. “I have not another pair in the house. You know I never want white gloves, and I was obliged to send to Schultz for these, after I had begun to dress!” “Oh, I can mend it in a moment,” cried Crescenz, bringing a needle and thread. “Only keep it on your hand—it will never do if you pull it off again.” Hamilton had in the meantime been playing with the discarded bracelet; Hildegarde attempted to take it out of his hand, but he held it nearer the light, observing in a low voice, “This is not _horse_ hair. It cannot be your father’s or your sister’s, for they have brown hair; nor your cousin’s; nor——” “Give me my bracelet,” said Hildegarde, impatiently. He held it towards her with both hands, and a look of pretended alarm. She half smiled, and extended her arm, while with a degree of trepidation which he in vain endeavoured to overcome, he placed the tongue in the serpent’s head which formed the clasp. When he looked up her head was averted, and she was jesting with her father about her chance of finding partners or being left sitting. “Pray, keep one waltz or galop in reserve for me,” cried Hamilton. “I shall be at the Museum between ten and eleven o’clock.” Hildegarde murmured a sort of assent, but the expression of her countenance denoted anything but satisfaction. She became grave and thoughtful. It was impossible not to perceive the change, and with ill-concealed mortification Hamilton turned to her father: “Your daughter does not know, perhaps, that I have learned to waltz since I came here. I am no longer a bad dancer.” “Oh, dear! I always thought you danced extremely well,” said Crescenz. “I may depend upon your keeping a waltz free for me; if Major Stultz will permit it.” “Oh, yes; that is,” said Crescenz, correcting herself, “if you can remember your engagement with me when Lina Berger is present.” “Madame Berger has no influence whatever upon my memory.” “No, but upon your heart.” “None whatever. She is very pretty, very amusing, very flattering, everything you please but lovable.” “Well, if she only heard you say that!” began Crescenz. “The carriage has been at the door this long time,” cried Madame Rosenberg, tying a large handkerchief over her ears and pink turban. “Let us be off.” Crescenz touched her sister’s hand, and whispered: “You see, dear, I was right.” Hildegarde bent her head, but did not speak. Hamilton heard, saw, but only partly understood. Had Hildegarde been jealous!