"You are wrong."
"Then the hope of improving your musical taste."
"Oh, no! That would not bring me a step hither. For me, music is only a bridge——"
"From which you might easily fall into cold water."
"And would you allow me to drown?"
"Most certainly—yes. I am not ambitious of a medal from the Humane Society," replied Elizabeth, dryly.
Fräulein von Walde returned. She seemed surprised to find the pair conversing, for until this moment there had never been a word exchanged between them. She looked keenly at Hollfeld, who could not control his feeling of annoyance, and then seating herself at the piano, began to prelude, while Elizabeth arranged the notes. Hollfeld took his usual place, and leaned his head upon his hand with a melancholy air. But never had his gaze rested upon Elizabeth with such glowing and passionate intentness. She repented having entered into conversation with him. Her endeavour to repulse him by coldness and severity appeared to have had quite a contrary effect. Repugnance and fear overcame her at sight of him, and, notwithstanding the thought of her uncle's probable smile of triumph, the determination rather to resign the practisings entirely than to subject herself any longer to these insolent glances, gained ground in her mind.
The hour was nearly ended, when Fräulein von Quittelsdorf entered in haste. In her arms she carried a little creature in a long, white, infant's cloak, pressing its head down upon her shoulder with one hand.
"Frau Oberhofmeisterin von Falkenberg sends her compliments," she said with formality,—"regrets excessively that a cold will prevent her presence to-morrow, but she takes the liberty of sending her lovely, blooming grandchild——"
Here the creature in her arms made desperate exertions, and, with a loud howl, jumped down upon the ground, and ran under a chair, dragging the long robe after it.