“On the spot,—confess it!”
“It was one who bade me keep it till he should bring me a prettier one.”
“I do not care for what he said, or what you promised. I want his name.'*
“And that I was never to forget him till then,—never.”
“Do you say this to irritate and offend me, or do you prevaricate out of shame?” said, I angrily.
“Shame!” repeated she, haughtily.
“Ay, shame or fear.”
“Or fear! Fear of what, or of whom?”
“You are very daring to ask me. And now, for the last time, Tintefleck,—for the last time, I say, who gave you this?”
As I said these words we had just reached the borders of a little rivulet, over which we were to cross by stepping-stones. Vaterchen was, as usual, some distance behind, and now calling to us to wait for him. She turned at his cry, and answered him, but made no reply to me.