Poor Crescenz had been condemned to a place between her mother and Major Stultz. Hildegarde had emancipated herself completely; she hung on her proud father’s arm, walked about the rooms, and talked unrestrainedly. Hamilton had to seek her when the music again commenced; she left her father directly, and walked towards the dancing-room, but scarcely had she entered it when Count Raimund approached, exclaiming, “Where are you going, Hildegarde? do not forget that this galop is mine.” “No, Oscar, it was the second that I promised you.” “That cannot be, Hildegarde, for I am engaged to dance it with a—Marie. I believe—I am quite certain—you promised me this one.” “And I am _quite sure_, Oscar, that you are mistaken. _Quite sure!_” began Hildegarde, with her usual decision of manner, but the angry expression of her cousin’s countenance made her hesitate. “Perhaps, however,” she added, looking from one to the other, “perhaps, as Mr. Hamilton is an Englishman, and does not care about dancing, he will be rather pleased than otherwise in being released from what he probably considered a duty dance.” “By no means,” said Hamilton, firmly holding the hand which she endeavoured to withdraw, “I am not so indifferent as you seem to imagine. You have promised to dance with me, and I am not disposed to release you from your engagement.” “Nor I, either,” said Count Raimund, while the blood mounted to his temples, and was even visible under the roots of his fair hair. “You think, perhaps, I ought to feel flattered,” said Hildegarde, scornfully, “but I do not—on the contrary I think you both, I mean to say—Oscar extremely disagreeable. I shall not dance with either of you,” she added, seating herself on a bench, and beginning to tap her foot impatiently on the floor. The two young men placed themselves on either side of her. “I hope,” she said, turning to Count Raimund, “I hope you are satisfied, now that you have deprived me of the pleasure of dancing a galop, to which I have been looking forward for the last half hour?” “My satisfaction depends entirely on who the person may be with whom you anticipated so much pleasure in dancing.” “You know perfectly well that I was not engaged to you, and did not think of you.” Count Raimund played with the hilt of his sword, which he had laid on the form beside him. “Oscar,” continued Hildegarde, after a pause, in a low voice, “don’t be so unjust, so tyrannical as to deprive me of my galop. Choose somebody else. See, there is Marie still disengaged—go quickly, before anyone else can——” “Thank you,” said Raimund, interrupting her; “you are very kind, but I have no inclination whatever that way. Marie may be very good for household purposes, but I must say I rejoice in the idea that our marriage will free me from these ball-room duties towards a person I have scarcely learned to tolerate. In fact, I believe I detest her, so has she been forced upon me!”