THE AU FAIR, AND THE SUPPER AT THE BREWERY.
“WILL you go with us to the Au fair?” said Madame Rosenberg to Hamilton,
the next day, after dinner.
“Of course, but what is the Au? I never heard of it?”
“One of the suburbs—at the other side of the Isar. There is a beautiful
Gothic church there, which you can look at while I buy ticking to make
Crescenz a mattress.”
“When do we set out?”
“The sooner the better, for the Major has proposed a party to the
Stuberwoll Brewery afterwards; we are to sup there.”
“At the brewery?”
“Yes; the Major says the beer is excellent, and the roast geese
delicious; Rosenberg enjoys the idea, of all things; he has a passion
for roast goose!”
“Oh, what fun!” cried Gustavus, jumping about the room. “Mamma has
promised to take me with her. It is a pity that Fritz has gone to
grandpapa.”
“And may I go too?” asked Peppy.
“You are too young,” replied his brother, demurely; “you cannot walk so
far.”
“I can, I can,” cried Peppy, commencing a roar.
“Hush,” said Madame Rosenberg; “what is the child crying about?”
“Peppy wishes to go with us, mamma,” said Crescenz; “I will take charge
of him, if you have no objection.”
“You will probably have to carry him half the way home; but you may do
as you please,” replied her mother with a smile of satisfaction
strangely in contradiction to her words. “Off, and get ready, all of
you.”
There was a joyous and noisy rush down the passage, while Madame
Rosenberg, turning to Hamilton, observed: “A very good girl is Crescenz.
She shall not be a loser for liking my boys, that is certain.”
Madame Rosenberg was herself always the last to appear; she generally
dressed her children, and had a long consultation with her cook before
she went out. Hamilton found the rest of the party, with the exception
of Hildegarde, assembled in the drawing-room, and it was not long before
he observed that Crescenz was making him the most unaccountable signs
and grimaces. He approached her, apparently occupied in forcing his
fingers into a tight glove, and said in French, “Why are you making such
horrible faces?”
Crescenz laughed good-humouredly, but while pretending to look at his
glove, answered hurriedly: “Hildegarde is at the Hoffmanns to return the
book to Count Raimund. Go—go for her before mamma comes.”
He left the room, descended quickly the flights of stairs, stood before
the Hoffmanns’ apartments, and rang the bell. He now regretted not
having as yet visited them, for though he would have particularly liked
to see how Hildegarde and her cousin were occupied, he could not make
his appearance for the first time so unceremoniously, and was,
therefore, obliged to send in the servant with a request that
Mademoiselle Rosenberg would return home immediately. He thought he
heard Hildegarde speaking as the door opened, and perceived, from the
sound of the moving of chairs, that she was taking leave at once. Not
wishing to be seen, he left the passage where he had been standing, and
retired to the landing-place on the stairs without. Hildegarde was
accompanied by her cousin, who spoke French, that the servant might not
understand him: “Adieu, dearest Hildegarde; your step-mother may forbid
me her house, but she cannot change the course of nature, and prevent
our being cousins. I shall see you here, and often; promise me that at
least.”
Hildegarde was about to answer, when she perceived Hamilton. The two
young men bowed haughtily, mutual dislike legible in every feature.
“I suppose I may accompany you to the door, Hildegarde, even if it be
closed against me.”
“It is quite unnecessary,” she replied, moving up the stairs, evidently
endeavouring to get rid of him.
Raimund, however, followed, and, before he turned to descend, gently
took her hand and kissed it, with a mingled expression of respect and
admiration.
Hamilton scarcely waited for him to be out of hearing, before he
observed: “This, I suppose, is the most approved manner for cousins
German.”
“It is less remarkable than the manners of cousins English,” replied
Hildegarde. “I have not forgotten your meeting with yours at Salzburg.”
“That was after a separation of several months, and——”
“Yes; but it was something more than hand kissing, which means nothing
at all, you know, and, I hear, is rather going out of fashion.”
“And yet it is a pleasant fashion,” said Hamilton. “I never kissed
anyone’s hand, but should have no objection to make a beginning now.”
Hildegarde held out her hand without a moment’s hesitation.
“Not that one,” said Hamilton, hesitating; “your cousin’s kiss is still
upon it.”
The door opened suddenly, and she ran laughingly past him towards the
drawing-room, just in time to enter it before her mother.
A few minutes after, they were in the street, Hildegarde, as usual,
close to her father’s elbow, but without taking his arm. Hamilton at
first imagined Mr. Rosenberg’s presence would be a restraint, but he
found, on the contrary, that he encouraged Hildegarde to talk and give
her opinion freely, enjoying even nonsense when it came from her lips,
and laughing with a heartiness which Hamilton had imagined impossible
for a person who had always appeared so calm and reserved. Everything
and everybody who passed afforded amusement; it was in vain Madame
Rosenberg called to order; the laugh was partly stifled for a moment, to
be renewed the next with double zest. Hamilton was extremely surprised,
and began to think he should never be able to understand her character,
and yet the simple fact was merely, that, being naturally gay, she only
required the certainty of being able to please to induce her to yield to
her innate inclination. She was not herself aware of this, for, on
Hamilton’s making some remark to express his surprise, she said: “She
believed she was only by degrees getting over the restraint of her
school habits, all conversation being forbidden there, excepting during
the recreation hours.”
The crowd at the fair was immense. It was the first time Hamilton had
seen anything of the kind, and he found it difficult to believe that in
the paltry booths around him there could be anything for sale as good as
might be had with less trouble in the town. The noise, the talking, and
the bargaining amused him not a little, especially the latter; and he
stood beside Madame Rosenberg for more than half an hour, while she
haggled about the price of some muslin. At the end of this time she was
at the point of walking off, (or, as she explained afterwards,
pretending to do so,) when the shopman called her back, and with an
assurance that he was giving her the “article” for next to nothing,
prepared to measure what she required. This was a bargain! She had
gained twenty-one kreutzers, about seven pence, and had the annoyance of
carrying a large package home, for porters there were none. To anyone
accustomed to English tradesmen, the almost positive necessity of
bargaining in the generality of German shops is extremely tiresome and
disagreeable. It is more than probable that the tradesmen would gladly
establish fixed prices, were not the habits of bargaining as yet too
strong in the middle and lower orders to be overcome.
The vociferous invitations of the Jews to inspect their wares were
equally novel to Hamilton. “Ladies, step here, if you please. Cheap
gloves, elegant ribbons, scissors, bracelets, or soap. Have I nothing
that I may show you, madame? Flannels, merinos, or cloth for the young
gentlemen? Winter is coming, madame, and I promise you as great bargains
as you will get anywhere!”
To all these speeches Madame Rosenberg gave an answer, generally of a
facetious description; and while Hamilton thought her more than usually
vulgar, he sometimes could not avoid laughing, the more so as everything
she said was taken in good part, and a few words seemed to reconcile the
vendors to her passing their booths without purchasing. The two little
boys had become weary and hungry; they leaned against the counters,
occasionally upset the piles of goods ranged outside the booths, cuffed
each other when their mother was not watching them, and when forced to
stand quietly beside her, yawned until the tears ran down their cheeks.
Hamilton took pity on them, and finding a toyshop, soon filled their
pockets and hands with playthings, making them by many degrees the
happiest of the whole party.
“So!” cried Madame Rosenberg, as they returned to her, radiant with
smiles, “this is what you have been about; I thought Mr. Hamilton had
gone to look at the church. We must all go together, it seems, and the
less time we lose there the better, for the days are short, and we have
a long walk home after supper.”
They were not exactly the persons with whom Hamilton could enjoy seeing
anything of the kind, and on entering the church he walked up the aisle
alone. They all, however, followed him, and Crescenz observed, in a
dissatisfied tone of voice, “And is this the church that everyone
admires so much? It is not half so handsome as the _Allerheiligen_. I
declare, if it were not for the painted windows with the sun shining
through them, I should say it was the most sombre church I had ever
seen.”
“You have seen very few, my dear,” said her father, looking round him,
and drawing nearer Hamilton.
“I have seen all the churches in Munich,” said Crescenz, “and several of
them are larger than this.”
“It would be difficult to form an opinion of the size of this building,”
said Hamilton, thoughtfully, “for the proportions are so admirably
observed that nothing strikes the eye or distinguishes itself above the
rest. There is no point from which one can take a mental measure, and I
am convinced it appears infinitely smaller than it really is.”
“But I expected to see a quantity of painted pillars, and bright
colours, and gilding, when I heard it was Gothic,” observed Crescenz.
“I know nothing of architecture,” said Hamilton, turning to Mr.
Rosenberg, “but I form exactly a contrary idea when I hear of a Gothic
church; the painted windows are the only colours which are admissible
without destroying my ideal.”
“And yet,” said Mr. Rosenberg, “Gothic buildings often combined colour
with form. In northern countries, either from stricter simplicity of
taste, or on account of the climate, the absence of colours is usual,
and sculpture takes their place; but in the south, beside the painted
ceilings, mosaics, and frescoes inside, the outsides of the churches
were ornamented with coloured marble. It is a mistake to suppose that
the Gothic and Byzantine architecture refused the assistance of colours;
on the contrary, the most brilliant and strongly contrasted painting is
common. To begin with the windows——”
“Rather let us dispense with them altogether,” said his wife, moving
towards the door.
“I have no objection,” said Mr. Rosenberg, turning round to look back
into the church, “for they do not suit the grey monotony of the walls,
and the gaudy colours playing so uncertainly on the cold surface have
something, to me, altogether disharmonious. In almost all the old
cathedrals,” he added, “the walls and pillars were formerly gorgeously
painted; and it is only in the later centuries that, either from want of
taste or poverty, they have been whitewashed.”
“I was not aware of that,” said Hamilton. “It cannot, however, make me
change my ideas all at once. A Gothic church is always handsome, with
its light pillars and pointed steeple and windows. I have never
travelled in southern countries, and my taste for bright colours has not
yet been made. Since I have been in Munich, I have begun merely to
tolerate them by degrees; and for this reason paintings of the Middle
Ages do not please me, no matter how celebrated they may be. I cannot
endure the bright red and blue draperies, or the terribly shining gold
backgrounds which are so common in those pictures. I dare say it is
great want of taste on my part, but the hard outlines appear to be
unnatural, and the glaring colours offensive.”
“Very probably, when viewed deliberately in a picture-gallery; but
exactly these pictures were intended for churches, and churches with
painted walls. You must allow that duller colours would have appeared
weak, or would have been completely lost, when submitted to the glowing
stream of light which would have fallen on them from windows of blue,
red, and amber-coloured glass!”
“All this never occurred to me,” said Hamilton; “but I suspect, as you
so warmly defend these bright colours, that you have seen and admired
them in more southern climes. Have you been in Italy?”
“Many years,” he replied, while a sudden flush passed across his face.
“Papa has been in Spain and in Greece too,” said Hildegarde.
“And yet you never speak of your travels!” exclaimed Hamilton,
surprised.
“Because I regret them,” said Mr. Rosenberg, sorrowfully. “I did not
travel expensively, and yet I wasted my whole patrimony and the best
years of my life in foreign countries. I know not what I should have
become at last, had I not by chance met Hildegarde’s mother in Tyrol.”
“She—she was probably very beautiful,” said Hamilton, glancing
unconsciously towards their companion.
“No,” replied Mr. Rosenberg, thoughtfully. “She was interesting looking,
but no longer young when we married. She was clever and
warm-hearted—like Hildegarde here—and could love with a warmth perfectly
irresistible to a man who had wandered for years, and was without a
friend or near relation in the world. She gave me an object in life; but
her affection, though of incalculable benefit to me, subjected her to
trials and privations which only ended with her life. I was not worthy
of such love!”
“Oh, papa! I am sure you were,” cried Hildegarde, eagerly. “And what are
trials and privations when shared with those we love! It must be a
compensation for everything when one is really loved! I should like
someone to love me—not in a commonplace, rational, every-day sort of
way—but permanently—desperately——”
“My dear girl, you don’t know what you are saying! What will Mr.
Hamilton think of you!”
“He will think I am talking nonsense,” replied Hildegarde, laughing,
“or, perhaps he will not understand me. Mr. Hamilton is much too
rational to love unwisely—and as to passion of desperation, I do not
think it possible for him to form a tolerably correct idea of the
meaning of the words!”
“Hello!” shouted Major Stultz, “where are you three going? We are all
waiting for you, and the roast goose is nearly ready.”
They turned back and Hildegarde said in a low voice to Hamilton, as they
passed through the yard of the brewery, “I am glad that there are not
many people here, for, though I like a garden party exceedingly, I think
supping in a brewery must be vulgar. I wonder you came with us!”
“I like to see everything,” replied Hamilton, “and besides a man may go
anywhere and everywhere.”
“Ah, how I should like to be a man!” she said sighing.
“You are too young for such a wish,” said Hamilton; “rather like the
Prince de Linge, desire to be a woman until you are thirty, a soldier
until you are fifty, and to spend the rest of your life as a monk.”
“I think,” said Madame Rosenberg, bustling past them, “I think that as
the evening air is cool, we had better take possession of the little
room at the end of the garden; there is a window in it which looks out
on the road, and we can see everybody who goes by. Do you remember,
Franz, we supped there with my father on pork-chops and _sauer-kraut_
the evening before we were married?”
Mr. Rosenberg’s previous conversation seemed to have made him somewhat
oblivious—he confessed having forgotten the pork-chops, but said that he
had probably thought more of her than of them, at such a time.
“I don’t know that,” said his wife, “for you scarcely spoke a word, and
eat enormously. Now that I think of it, I dare say that was the reason
you looked so miserably ill the next day.”
“I dare say it was,” replied Mr. Rosenberg, rubbing his forehead
hastily, and then turning to little Peppy, who was dragging from his
pocket the toys given him by Hamilton.
“Ah, those are childish things,” cried Gustavus, pushing him aside, and
leaning against his father’s arm, while he endeavoured, with more haste
than dexterity, to open a little wooden box. “Those are childish things,
but here are swans and fish made to follow a magnet, and they swim about
in the water as if they were alive. Crescenz says I may swim them in her
basin to-morrow.”
“Papa, look at my drum,” cried Peppy, in his turn endeavouring to push
aside his brother, “look at the nice large drum which Hamilton has given
me.”
“Say Monsieur de Hamilton, or Herr von Hamilton,” said Madame Rosenberg;
“you and Gustle take great liberties.”
“We have no _von_ in England,” said Hamilton, slightly colouring, “and
if the children may not call me Hamilton, I must teach them my Christian
name.”
“What _is_ your Christian name?” asked Gustle.
“Alfred. I hope you like it?”
“And what is your name?” asked Crescenz, turning to Major Stultz.
“My name is Blazius.”
“Blazes!” cried Hamilton. “What an odd name!”
“Not at all odd,” said Major Stultz, “the name is a good one, to be
found in all almanacks on the third of February, which is my name’s day.
Next year, I expect it to be properly celebrated too—eh, Crescenz?”
Crescenz as usual smiled, but looked embarrassed, and was evidently
greatly relieved by the entrance of the roast goose and salad.
They supped, and Mr. Rosenberg and Hamilton had just lit their cigars,
and Major Stultz drawn forth a pocket edition of a meerschaum pipe,
which he prepared to smoke as an accompaniment to his third tankard of
beer, when the sound of a number of gay loud voices, and approaching
steps, made Madame Rosenberg hastily open the window which looked into
the garden, and stretch her long thin neck to its utmost extent. She
seemed half vexed as she drew back again, exclaiming: “Well, to be sure!
wherever we go—we are sure to see him. If he were alone, I shouldn’t
care a straw; but he will, no doubt, bring all the others with him.”
“Who?” asked Mr. Rosenberg, very quietly continuing to puff at his
newly-lighted cigar.
“Count Zedwitz, of course—he is always sure to find out where we are
going, and pursues us like a shadow!” replied his wife, glancing
half-suspiciously towards Hildegarde, who, however, sprang from her
chair with even more than her usual vivacity, while she said to
Hamilton: “Can you not assist us to escape? This window is so close to
the ground that I think we could easily leap on the road. Pray persuade
mamma to walk home with us, and leave papa to follow.”
Hamilton threw open the window, and in a moment was on the ground,
holding up his arm towards her; she sprang down lightly without
assistance, the two boys followed, but when it came to Crescenz’s turn,
she drew back, saying she was afraid.
“Oh, Crescenz! choose some other time and some better occasion for
timidity,” cried Hildegarde, impatiently.
“If you cannot jump, make a long step,” said Madame Rosenberg, laughing,
while she put her advice in practice by extending towards the ground
nearly a yard of formless bone, and with Hamilton’s assistance, and a
slight totter, reached the road.
A tremendous clatter of swords in the garden seemed to alarm Crescenz;
she threw herself completely upon Hamilton; and while he was
endeavouring to place her steadily on her feet, the sound of wheels made
him look around. A dark-green open carriage was at the moment turning
round, and in the corner of it, vainly endeavouring to suppress a fit of
laughter, sat A. Z.
Hamilton coloured violently as he approached her, and expressed his
astonishment at seeing her at Munich.
“Herrmann called on you a couple of hours ago,” she replied, “but you
were not at home; and as we only remain a few days here, and I may not
see you again, I must not forget to renew my invitation to Hohenfels.
You must not, however, expect to see an English country-house, a park,
or anything of that kind—prepare yourself for one of the simplest of
German establishments, if you do not wish to be horribly disappointed. I
should like you to see Hohenfels before the snow comes on, or after it
is gone. When will you come to us?”
“In spring, if you please,” said Hamilton, “I have at present so many
engagements——”
“I need not ask you to drive back with me,” she said, looking after the
Rosenbergs, “but I can take those children and leave them at home—it is
a great distance for them to walk.”
Hamilton was the bearer of a message to Madame Rosenberg, who no sooner
heard of the proposal than she turned, back, approached the carriage,
and commenced such a torrent of exaggerated thanks and apologies,
accompanied by curtsies and bows, that Hamilton, who had lately begun to
feel a sincere regard for her, was vexed, and looked at A. Z. as if to
deprecate her mirth, while he silently lifted the two boys into the
carriage.
It was unnecessary. A. Z. seemed to find nothing unusual in Madame
Rosenberg’s manner; and when the latter raised her finger threateningly,
and told the children, “For their life to keep quiet, and not soil the
baroness’s beautiful silk dress,” she replied, quietly, that “she was
well accustomed to such youthful company to be in the least
inconvenienced by a pair of dusty little shoes more or less.”
“An exceedingly civil person,” observed Madame Rosenberg, as the
carriage drew off, “an exceedingly civil person is your countrywoman. I
am sorry we did not get better acquainted at Seon, for I liked her a
great deal better than those Zedwitzes, who were uncommonly grand, and
seemed to think their son demeaned himself when he spoke to our girls. I
did not court his company, I am sure, and I let him see it.”
“It is hardly just to make him suffer for his parents’ faults of
manner,” said Hamilton; “Zedwitz is extremely gentlemanlike and
good-humoured, and has not a particle of pride in his composition. Will
you not assist me to defend the absent?” he added, turning somewhat
maliciously to Hildegarde.
“My defence would be as injudicious as useless,” she said, but in so low
a voice that only Hamilton could hear her words; “he is indeed all you
have said, and much more—excellent in every respect, I believe.”
“You do him justice,” began Hamilton, though he would have preferred
praise less warm in its expression; but at this moment they were
overtaken by Mr. Rosenberg and Major Stultz, accompanied, to the
surprise of all, by Count Zedwitz and Count Raimund.
“I have brought you two of the party from whom you ran away,” said Mr.
Rosenberg, laughing, as he joined them. “Count Zedwitz came into the
room just in time to see Crescenz fly out of the window, and both he and
Count Raimund prefer walking home with us to drinking the superlatively
excellent Stuberwoll beer, although I praised it as it deserved.”
“It was truly delicious,” said Major Stultz. “I should have had no
objection to another glass.”
“Hildegarde! Crescenz!” cried Mr. Rosenberg, “this is your cousin, Count
Raimund.”
Crescenz turned round and blushed. Hildegarde took her usual place
beside her father, while she said, without hesitation, that she had
already made her cousin’s acquaintance at the Hoffmanns’. Hamilton saw a
glance of such meaning pass between them as she spoke, that he
indignantly walked forward towards Madame Rosenberg. Major Stultz and
Crescenz soon joined them; and the former explained that Count Raimund
had, in the free-and-easiest manner possible, claimed relationship with
Mr. Rosenberg. That he had spoken of his aunt—said that he recollected
her perfectly—hoped he would present him to his cousins and his present
wife, and allow him occasionally to visit his family.
“And Franz was as usual all civility,” said Madame Rosenberg, with
considerable irritation.
“Why, to tell you the truth, it was not easy to be otherwise,” replied
Major Stultz; “his manner was so off-hand and sincere when he said that
he trusted Rosenberg would not make him a sufferer for family
differences which had occurred when he was a mere child. They shook
hands, and I was obliged to do the same, as he congratulated me on my
approaching marriage, and said——” here Major Stultz diligently sought
for his pocket handkerchief, as he spoke—“said he was particularly happy
at the prospect of being so nearly allied to an officer of whose
personal bravery he had heard so much—or something to that purport.”
“It is too late to attempt opposition now,” said Madame Rosenberg. “I
intended to have refused his acquaintance, and forbidden him our house,
without ever mentioning his name—it is now impossible. As to Franz, he
has acted exactly as was to be expected; but after all you said
yesterday evening I did not think you would cultivate his acquaintance,
on Crescenz’s account.”
“Crescenz will, I hope, do me the favour not to speak much to him,”
began Major Stultz; but Crescenz interrupted him by exclaiming, in a
voice wavering between crying and laughing:
“I shall really be obliged to talk to myself at last! Every day a new
prohibition!”
“What does the child mean?” said Madame Rosenberg, appealing to Major
Stultz, whose colour visibly deepened. “What on earth does she mean? Has
she not her brothers, her sisters, and you, and Mr. Hamilton to talk
to?”
“No!” cried Crescenz, while tears of vexation started to her eyes, “he
forbid my speaking to Mr. Hamilton before we came out to-day; and I am
sure I don’t know why!”
“Then I must tell you why,” said Major Stultz, restrained anger evident
in the tone of his voice. “It is because I have just begun to discover
that you give yourself a vast deal too much trouble to please this Mr.
Hamilton—your—your vanity is insatiable; and, I must say, you are the
greatest coquette I ever saw!”
Crescenz burst into tears.
Major Stultz seemed immediately to repent his speech. He attempted to
draw Crescenz’s arm within his, while he commenced an agitated apology;
but she shrank from him, and between suppressed sobs stammered, “If—if
such be your opinion—of me—the—the sooner we break off our engagement
the—the better.”
“Crescenz, are you mad!” cried her step-mother, catching her arm, but
Crescenz broke from her, and hurried on alone.
“Oh, pray, Mr. Hamilton, do have the kindness to talk a little reason to
that headstrong girl,” said Madame Rosenberg, turning to Hamilton, who
had been walking close behind them.
“Excuse me,” he said, quietly. “Now that I know Major Stultz’s wishes on
the subject from himself, he may be quite sure of my not speaking much
to Mademoiselle Crescenz in future. I have no right whatever to
interfere with his claims.”
“We know you never thought of such a thing. Don’t we, Major!”
“Mr. Hamilton certainly admired Crescenz when at Seon,” observed Major
Stultz, sullenly.
“A mere jealous fancy on your part,” said Madame Rosenberg, eagerly.
“Not quite,” said Hamilton, “I plead guilty to the charge; in fact, I
admire every pretty face I see, and both Mademoiselle Crescenz and her
sister are remarkably handsome.”
“You see Mr. Hamilton treats the whole affair as a joke.”
“It is no joke to me, however—I have been a precipitate fool, and ought
never to have thought of marrying such a girl as Crescenz—perhaps I do
Mr. Hamilton injustice—but——”
“I am sure you do,” cried Madame Rosenberg, interrupting him, and then
touching Hamilton’s elbow, she whispered, “Say something to him.”
“What can I say? Major Stultz can hardly expect that because he intends
to marry a very pretty girl, everyone is to find her ugly and
disagreeable, in order not to provoke his jealousy! I can avoid speaking
to her, but I cannot think her one bit less pretty than she really is.”
“Come now, Mr. Hamilton,” said Madame Rosenberg, jocosely, “I see you
are trying to tease the Major, but you must not go too far, or he will
not understand you. Crescenz is very good-looking, but I have no doubt
you have seen many prettier girls in England.” She turned towards him
once more, and said in a very low voice: “I shall be greatly obliged if
you will say that you admire Hildegarde still more than her sister.”
Hamilton found no difficulty in complying with her request, and was so
eloquent on the theme given him, that he not only convinced Major Stultz
that he had been mistaken, but induced him even to banter him on his
apparently hopeless love. Madame Rosenberg did not wait for this result;
she no sooner perceived that Hamilton intended to comply with her
request than she walked on beside Crescenz, and began a severe
reprimand. Had she delayed a few minutes, she would have found the young
lady more disposed to listen to her and profit by her advice.
Unfortunately, Crescenz had overheard what Hamilton had said before
Hildegarde’s name was mentioned, and her mind, buoyed up on a thousand
vague hopes, would not now yield to the pressing reasonings of her
mother; she said sullenly, “that Major Stultz was intolerably
jealous—that his age rendered him unable to make allowances for younger
people, and that he expected more than was reasonable if he thought she
could marry him for any other cause than in order to obtain a home. She
would tell him so the first convenient opportunity.”
“You will tell him no such thing,” cried Madame Rosenberg, turning back,
in order to try the effect of her eloquence on Major Stultz. She was a
clumsy maneuvrer—but she generally gained her point, for she always
meant well, and at times spoke with much worldly wisdom. On the present
occasion, she took her future son-in-law’s arm, and walked quickly on
with him, leaving Hamilton, to his great annoyance, with Crescenz. He
would willingly have joined the others, but there were too many to walk
abreast, and neither Zedwitz nor Raimund seemed disposed to resign their
places.
They walked together in silence for some time, Crescenz with an air of
triumphant satisfaction, Hamilton with ill-concealed impatience.
“I hope,” she began at last, “I hope that I have seriously offended
Major Stultz this evening: nothing would give me greater pleasure than
the breaking off of this odious engagement.”
“It would have been more honourable had you done so before you left
Seon.”
“Better late than never,” said Crescenz, gayly.
“To act dishonourably, do you mean?” asked Hamilton, gravely.
“Ah, bah!” cried Crescenz, with imperturbable good-humour. “You are
talking exactly like Hildegarde, now.”
“You are not acting as Hildegarde would,” said Hamilton, still more
seriously.
“Don’t praise her too much, you are out of favour with her just now, I
can tell you.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hamilton, quickly.
“I mean that I am sure you must have been very uncivil to her last night
when you refused her the candle, for she cried a good half-hour before
she went to bed; and Hildegarde does not cry for nothing! Perhaps if I
had gone for the candle, you would have given it.”
“Perhaps,” answered Hamilton, absently.
“I am sure you would,” she persisted.
“Oh, of course, of course.”
“Well, I told her so, and wanted to get up and go to you—but she would
not allow me.”
“She was right,” said Hamilton, endeavouring to overtake Madame
Rosenberg, while she was speaking.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake don’t bring me again to mamma! I have been so
lectured by her already—perhaps you heard what she said?”
“No, I was speaking to Major Stultz.”
“And _he_ was so—so very rude to me—you have no idea.”
“He told you some unpleasant truths.”
“Truths!” exclaimed Crescenz.
“Yes, truths,” repeated Hamilton. “You are very pretty, and very
good-natured, but you certainly are a—a coquette—what we call in England
a flirt.”
“Well, how odd!” exclaimed Crescenz. “Do you know—I don’t at all mind
your telling me that—and I was so very angry with him! I declare now I
should like to hear all my faults!”
“I dare say Major Stultz will enumerate them, if you desire it,” said
Hamilton, now determinedly joining Madame Rosenberg, and remaining
beside her the rest of the way home.
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