One fine afternoon, when Hamilton was about to drive out in his sledge, he perceived Crescenz hovering about him mysteriously. Major Stultz, who was in the room, seemed to embarrass her, but at length she murmured, in French, “I have something to say to you.” “I have been aware of it for the last half hour, and have remained here on purpose to hear it,” said Hamilton. “You always forget that Mr. Hamilton speaks German perfectly well, Crescenz,” observed Major Stultz. “I take it for granted you have no secret from me!” “Oh, dear, no,” said Crescenz, with a slight laugh, “I always speak French when I am not thinking of anything in particular. You know for many years I never spoke any other language;” and while she spoke, she carelessly upset her work-basket, the contents of which rolled in all directions on the painted floor. “Dear me! How awkward I am!” she exclaimed, half laughing, while Major Stultz, with evident difficulty, began to pick up the dispersed articles. “My scarlet wool is behind the sofa; Mr. Hamilton, will you be so kind——” Hamilton moved the sofa. There was no scarlet wool, but a slip of paper dropped from Crescenz’s hand; he immediately took possession of it, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Thank you, thank you, I believe I have everything now. Oh, by-the-by, Mr. Hamilton, if you have time, I wish you would call on Lina Berger, and ask her why she has not been here since the ball?” Hamilton hesitated. “Tell her my wedding-day is fixed, and I want to consult her about my veil. You will go to her, I hope?” “If—you—wish it—but——” “No buts, I hate buts,” said Crescenz, laughing, and then making an inexplicable grimace to him apart. When out of the room, he inspected the slip of paper, on which was written in French: “You have offended Lina Berger by not dancing with her. Make up your quarrel as fast as you can, or we shall lose all chance of going to the masquerade.” “I had forgotten all about the masquerade,” thought Hamilton, “and must make my peace directly with the little person. She shall drive out with me this very day to arrange matters. Fortunately, she has said at least half a dozen times that she likes sledging—I ought to have taken the hint long ago——” What his excuses were is not recorded—they did not seem to interest him particularly, as only the result is known. Madame Berger drove out in his sledge, the party was arranged, and the next morning, at breakfast, a note was brought to Madame Rosenberg, offering Dr. Berger’s carriage and horses for the day of the masquerade. “How good-natured of Lina to remember that I wished to see my father and introduce the Major to him,” she exclaimed, handing the neatly-written note to her husband; “I would rather it had been any other day than Monday, as you know Mademoiselle de Hoffmann’s marriage is to take place on Tuesday, and it will be disagreeable returning home so early the next day; however, that cannot be avoided.”