Actuated by these friendly feelings, he gives the knight a look which nearly takes his breath away. "Why, what is the matter?" says Sir Asinus. Jacques sees the false position which he occupies, and groans. "Why, dear Jacques, you distress me," says Sir Asinus with great warmth; "did I tread upon your toes?" Jacques might very justly reply in the affirmative, but he only turns away muttering disconsolately, "One more chance!" "I thought you were the proctor," says Sir Asinus pleasantly. "Did you? I am going back soon, and will send him," replies Jacques with sad courtesy. "No! don't trouble yourself!" cries Sir Asinus; "it is not necessary." "It is no trouble," says Jacques; "but as you are probably about to return to town yourself, I will not send him." "To town? Indeed, I am about to do no such thing. It is not every day that one gets a taste of the country." "You stay?" "Yes." Jacques groans, and imprecates--sleep to descend upon his friend. He sits down wofully. Sir Asinus scenting the joke, and determined to revenge himself, does the same joyfully. Jacques sighs, Sir Asinus laughs. Jacques directs an Olympian frown at his opponent, but Sir Asinus answers it with smiles. Belle-bouche all this time has been endeavoring to produce the impression that she is looking over a book of engravings--being interested in Heidelberg, and fascinated with the Alhambra. From time to time her timid glance steals toward Jacques, who is sighing, or toward Sir Asinus, who is laughing. Sir Asinus glories in his revenge. Jacques refused to tell him the news, and maligned his character to the Doctor, and forced him to listen in silence to that abuse. He takes his promised revenge--for he understands very well what he interrupted. Jacques stays all the morning, hoping that Sir Asinus will depart; but that gentleman betrays no intention of vacating the premises. Finally, in a paroxysm of internal rage, and a perfect outward calmness, the graceful Jacques retires--with a last look for Belle-bouche. One thought consoles him. He will escort her to the ball, and on his return in his two-seated curriculum defy the interruption of all the Asinuses that ever lived. Poor Jacques! as he goes sadly back, the cloud rising upon the dream is more asleep than ever. CHAPTER XXII. HOW HOFFLAND PREFERRED A GLOVE TO A DOZEN PISTOLES. One of the most beautiful walks in the neighborhood of Williamsburg was known to the fair dames and gallant cavaliers of that epoch as the "Indian Camp."