Uncle Balthasar received him with some good-natured badinage about his late rising, telling him that Leo von Heydeck and Fräulein Hilda had carried off Eva and Herr Delmar upon a mountain-excursion early in the morning. They had started at six o'clock, and would not return until evening, for Eva had ordered her servant Wilhelm and a boy from the inn to follow them with lunch packed in baskets. Guido was relieved, it is true, to know that there was no chance of his meeting his enemies for some hours to come, but vexation at Eva's treatment of him far overbalanced this relief. Had she forgotten that she was betrothed to him? Did she not outrage decency by thus wandering about the country with Delmar without even giving her future bridegroom a choice whether or not to join them? This conduct on her part gave him a right to treat her with the same want of consideration, and again he thought of the ebony casket. Uncle Balthasar also probably felt uncomfortable at the slight put upon his 'dear Guido' by his niece, and tried to excuse it by remarking that Eva would not have him disturbed after his fatigue of the previous day, and that he, Uncle Balthasar, was quite ready to accompany him if he felt like a morning walk, an offer which Bertram declined almost roughly, explaining that he was far too tired to take another walk, and that he would go to his room and write letters. He finished his breakfast in silence, replying in monosyllables to Uncle Balthasar's good-humoured inquiries with regard to his expedition of the previous day, and immediately rose and left the balcony. With Aline and Aunt Minni he had not exchanged a word, and his morning salutation to Herwarth had been barely acknowledged. As he passed along the passage to his room he noticed that the door of Eva's apartment was open. The thought suddenly occurred to him, "What if this were the right moment?" He looked cautiously about him,--no one was to be seen. He hastily entered the half-open door, and found himself face to face with Nanette, who was putting the room in order. "Nanette!" There was so distinct an expression of surprise unmixed with pleasure on Bertram's face as he uttered her name, that Nanette could not but perceive it, and her temper was not at all improved by doing so. She gave the intruder an angry glance, and said in a sharp tone, with an emphasis upon every word, "Much obliged, I'm sure. Herr von Bertram does really remember my name. I shall certainly find some way to show my gratitude for such condescension. No need to shout until one is out of the woods. If you want to catch gold-fish, see that no one throws stones in the water."