“He knows some English, then!”
There was time for no more—a violent rustle, a boyish laugh, and down
swung the slender tree, with the young man clinging to the top.
As he landed safely, Helen cried, “Bravo!” and Amy rushed out,
exclaiming reproachfully, yet admiringly,—
“How could you do it and frighten us so? I shall never express a wish
before you again, for if I wanted the moon you’d rashly try to get it, I
know.”
“_Certainement_, mademoiselle,” was the smiling reply, Casimer presented
the flowers, as if the exploit was a mere trifle.
“Now I shall go and press them at once in uncle’s guide-book. Come and
help me, else you will be in mischief again.” And Amy led the way to the
major with her flowers and their giver.
Helen roamed into one of the ruined courts for a last look at a fountain
which pleased her eye. A sort of cloister ran round the court, open on
both sides, and standing in one of these arched nooks, she saw Hoffman
and a young girl talking animatedly. The girl was pretty, well dressed,
and seemed refusing something for which the other pleaded eagerly. His
arm was about her, and she leaned affectionately upon him, with a white
hand now and then caressing his face, which was full of sparkle and
vivacity now. They seemed about to part as Helen looked, for the maiden
standing on tiptoe, laughingly offered her blooming cheek, and as Karl
kissed it warmly, he said in German, so audibly Helen heard every word,—
“Farewell, my Ludmilla. Keep silent and I shall soon be with you.
Embrace the little one, and do not let him forget me.”
Both left the place as they spoke, each going a different way, and Helen
slowly returned to her party, saying to herself in a troubled tone,—
“‘Ludmilla’ and ‘the little one’ are his wife and child, doubtless. I
wonder if uncle knows that.”
When Hoffman next appeared she could not resist looking at him; but the
accustomed gravity was resumed, and nothing remained of the glow and
brightness he had worn when with Ludmilla in the cloister.
* * * * *