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 Fraeulein 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.”

“Good heavens!  I am only here to sue for pardon for my boldness,” said the count, as he stepped, with apparent submissiveness, directly in front of her in the narrow path.  “I know full well how unapproachable you are, and that no one guards her reputation more jealously than the beautiful Marietta.”

“My name is Fraeulein Volkmar,” cried Marietta angrily.  “Save such familiar speeches for those who appreciate them.  I do not, and if you do not cease your importunities, I will in future claim protection against them.”

“Whose protection?” sneered the count.  “Perhaps that of the old woman with whom you live, and who is forever at your side!  It is only when you go to Professor Marani that she is left at home; you do not regard the old singing master as dangerous.  But that is the only time when you are without her.”

“Except for a morning walk in the park, of which you are apparently aware.  Get out of my path, please.  I want to go on.”

She attempted to pass him, but the count put out both arms to intercept her.

“You will at least, give me permission to accompany you, Fraeulein?  You can see for yourself the walks are lonely and deserted, and I’m bound to offer you my protection.”

The park was indeed deserted; no sign of life in any direction, and the brave girl was secretly alarmed, but she answered, boldly: