Without uttering a word, he sprang into the carriage, and the coachman drove off. His anxiety was indescribable; in the crowd he had felt the absolute necessity of releasing the arm of one of the sisters, and deceived by the extreme likeness in their figures, had almost forcibly retained Crescenz, who chanced to be at the moment followed by the silent mask, and whom he consequently mistook for her sister. At the theatre he dismissed the coachman, and began making inquiries. “A black domino alone, separated from a party of friends?” Numbers of black dominoes had been seen—many had been separated from their friends! was the usual answer. At length, a footman who had been lounging at a distance, observed, that about half an hour before, a black domino—a lady, had been stunned by a blow from the pole of a carriage, and had been carried off by another black domino. “That may have been Hildegarde!” cried Hamilton, in a state of fearful anxiety. “I think that _was_ the name he called her,” said the man, preparing to walk away. “He! Who is he?” asked Hamilton. “I don’t know—he said he lived close by, and that he was a near relation.” “Raimund!” almost groaned Hamilton, as he rushed out of the theatre towards the lodgings, which he knew were in one of the adjoining streets. The door at one side of the entrance-gate was slightly ajar, it had probably been left so by some servants who had stolen off to the masquerade, and did not wish to announce their return by ringing the bell. Raimund’s rooms were on the ground floor, a couple of steps led to them. Hamilton ascended—the door was open—he entered a narrow passage, and stood opposite the entrance to one of the chambers, knocked first gently, then loudly; shook the door; no sound reached him; at length he moved towards another door and called out, “Hildegarde, for heaven’s sake, if you are here, answer me?” He thought now he heard some one moving in the room. “Let me in—open the door,” he cried, pushing with all his strength against it. “Wait a moment,” said a voice which he with difficulty recognised as Hildegarde’s, “wait—I must—take the key from——” “Heaven and earth, Hildegarde! How can you be so calm, when you know how anxious we must be about you! Are you alone?” “No—yes,” she answered, quite close to the door. “Count Raimund, you have no right to make a prisoner of your cousin. Open the door directly,” cried Hamilton, shaking it until the hinges rattled.