Suddenly, a footstep, quick and light, sounded immediately behind them, and a hand touched Lotte lightly on the shoulder. She turned, and perceived at her elbow a tall, moustached gentleman, a little in advance of two others, arm in arm, who were following him up.
He addressed Lotte.
“What a hurry you are in, my dear,” he said; “I have had to increase my pace to a gallop to catch you. Don’t walk so fast, I beg of you; you fatigue me, and do you know that disturbs my serenity.”
Lotte gazed upon him with inexpressible astonishment.
“I don’t know you,” she said, with unequivocal surprise, “I am sure you don’t know me. You have mistaken me, sir, for some other person.”
The man bent his head down, and looked closely and impertinently at her face; he appeared rather agreeably surprised by its prettiness.
“How absurd,” he exclaimed, catching hold of her wrist, “mere affectation, you little coy queen, you. We are good friends, you know, of course.”
He tried to put her hand within his arm. Lotte wrenched her hand from him, and stamped her foot indignantly.
“How dare you touch me?” she said, her face and neck becoming a brilliant crimson. “You are aware that I am an entire stranger to you, and that your speaking thus to me is an insult.”
“The little pearl!” exclaimed the man, with a slight laugh, as he placed himself before her to impede her advance.