Anton's bow, Rosalie's striking beauty, and, perhaps, some peculiarity in their dress, had attracted Sabine's attention.
Ehrenthal's daughter did not heed the bow, but fixed her dark eyes on Sabine, whom she took for her fortunate rival, with such a flashing glance of anger and hatred that Sabine shrank as though to avoid the spring of a beast of prey.
Fink's lip curled, and he slightly shrugged his shoulders.

When the ladies had passed by, Sabine asked who they were.
"Some acquaintances of Anton's," said he, satirically.
Anton named them as the mother and sister of the young student of whom he had lately told her.
Sabine was silent, and leaned back on the bench; her gay spirits were over.

The conversation flagged; and when her brother returned from a visit to the next table, she rose and invited the party to come and see her garden.

Again the nebula followed her, but Fink was no longer at her side.

That burning glance had withered the green tendrils that had been drawing them together.