Suddenly he stepped quickly behind one of the pillars which supported the little temple, where he could see any one approaching without being seen himself.
About five minutes later a young lady walking briskly came along a narrow path which led past the temple. She was of slight, graceful figure, wore a dark, fur-trimmed mantle with cap and muff to match, and was glancing over a roll of manuscript as she stepped quickly forward.
Suddenly she gave a surprised cry, which had anything but a joyful sound, as the young man stepped in front of her.
"Oh, Count Westerburg."
The man bowed low as he exclaimed:
"What a happy accident! Who would have thought to find Fräulein Marietta Volkmar seeking the fresh air of the park at this hour."
Marietta stood still and looked the speaker well over from head to foot, before she answered, in a tone of mingled anger and contempt:
"I do not believe it is by accident that you so often and so persistently cross my path, Herr Count, although I have been very explicit as to the annoyance which your attentions cause me."
"Oh, yes, you have been very cruel to me," said the count reprovingly, but with unmistakable assurance. "You will not permit me to visit you, despise my gifts of flowers, hardly acknowledge my greetings when you meet me. What have I done to you? I have ventured to prove my devotion by laying at your feet a little tribute in the form of jewels, but you return them with—"
"With the explanation that I decline such insolent advances now and always," Marietta interrupted angrily; "that I will have no more of your brazen impertinences. You have waylaid me purposely to-day."