"Ah, well, shall I wait till your hour arrives, or will you take your lesson now?"
"Oh, you need not wait," said Hilda; "I will take my lesson now. I think I will appropriate both hours."
There was a glance of peculiar meaning in Hilda's eyes which Gualtier noticed, but he cast his eyes meekly upon the floor. He had an idea that the long looked for revelation was about to be given, but he did not attempt to hasten it in any way. He was afraid that any expression of eagerness on his part might repel Hilda, and, therefore, he would not endanger his position by asking for any thing, but rather waited to receive what she might voluntarily offer.
Hilda, however, was not at all anxious to be asked. Now that she could converse with Gualtier, and not compromise herself, she had made up her mind to give him her confidence. It was safe to talk to this man in this room. The servants were few. They were far away. No one would dream of trying to listen. They were sitting close together near the piano.
"I have something to say to you," said Hilda at last.
Gualtier looked at her with earnest inquiry, but said nothing.
"You remember, of course, what we were talking about the last time we spoke to one another?"
"Of course, I have never forgotten that."
"It was nearly two years ago," said Hilda, "At one time I did not expect that such a conversation could ever be renewed. With the General's death all need for it seemed to be destroyed. But now that need seems to have arisen again."
"Have you ever deciphered the paper?" asked Gualtier.