THE SLEDGE.
HAMILTON’S sledge was the subject of discussion the very first evening
of his return—he of course proposed their making use of it, and assured
Madame Rosenberg that she might trust herself and her daughters to his
care without fear.
“Oh, dear,—I’m sure I should not be in the least afraid,” cried
Crescenz.
“And yet you are the greatest coward in the house,” said her mother. “I
am sure you will scream so often that Mr. Hamilton will refuse to take
you a second time.”
“Allow me to observe,” said Major Stultz, his face increasing in redness
as he spoke—“and I conceive I have some right to give an opinion on the
subject—that I totally disapprove of Crescenz’s going out in Mr.
Hamilton’s sledge.”
“Are you afraid to trust her to my care?” asked Hamilton, laughing.
Major Stultz rapped on the table with his fingers, and looked
significantly towards Madame Rosenberg.
“You surely do not think I shall be so awkward as to upset the sledge?”
continued Hamilton.
“I have the highest opinion of you, Mr. Hamilton, the highest
opinion—where horses are concerned,” began Major Stultz, with some
embarrassment, while Hamilton rubbed his upper lip to hide a smile. “Had
you a carriage instead of a sledge, the case would be different, and
I—but I see you understand me.”
“Not in the least,” said Hamilton, looking up in unfeigned astonishment.
“Crescenz does, however,” said Major Stultz, turning to his betrothed,
whose face was suffused with blushes.
Madame Rosenberg had been occupied with little Peppy—she was arranging
the broken harness of a wooden carthorse, which had been dragged
somewhat roughly round the room. She now looked up, and observed in a
low voice, and with a sort of expressive wink at Major Stultz, “Mr.
Hamilton, being an Englishman, knows nothing about sledging rights. Keep
your own counsel, and he will never think of claiming it.”
“He may claim it from whoever he pleases,” cried Major Stultz, bluntly;
“but not from my Crescenz, that’s all.”
“What is it—what is my right? What may I claim?” asked Hamilton,
quickly.
No one seemed disposed to explain, until at length Madame Rosenberg
replied, laughing, “Neither more nor less than a kiss, which is a sort
of old privilege allowed a gentleman if he drive a lady in a sledge! Now
I know that from me you will not claim it, because I am neither young
nor pretty—nor from Hildegarde, because you don’t like her well
enough—nor from Crescenz, because she is betrothed. So really, Major, I
see no reason for making such a serious face.”
“I intend to drive Crescenz myself in a sledge,” said Major Stultz; “I
take it for granted she will enjoy it as much with me as with Mr.
Hamilton.”
Crescenz bent her head over her work, and said not a word.
A heavy fall of snow during the night, and a clear blue sky the next
day, proved most propitious; and after dinner the sledge was brought to
the door. Madame Rosenberg and her son Gustle were carefully assisted by
Hamilton into the light fantastic vehicle, while Hans, not
unnecessarily, held the horses’ heads. No sooner were the spirited
animals released than they bounded forward with a vehemence which caused
Madame Rosenberg to utter an only half-suppressed scream, while the
child, participating in his mother’s alarm, seized Hamilton’s arm, and
clung to it with all his strength. One of the horses reared dangerously.
“Gustle, you must not touch my arm or the reins!” cried Hamilton,
shaking him off. “They will be quiet in a moment,” he added to Madame
Rosenberg, who had closed her eyes and compressed her lips as if
prepared for the worst; but notwithstanding all his endeavours, the
horses pranced and danced and bounded, to the great admiration of the
passers-by, while poor Madame Rosenberg sat in a sort of agony. She did
not speak a word until they had reached the Nymphenburg road, but there
every sledge they met increased her terrors, and at length she
spoke—“Oh, dear, good, excellent Mr. Hamilton—turn back and take me home
again—I know you are too good-natured to enjoy my anxiety—if it were
only for Gustle’s sake, see——Oh!——Ah! The child is frightened to death
almost, and no wonder! I declare if I had not come out in my slippers I
would walk home—oh, pray stop—turn—before we meet that sledge coming
towards us. When your horses hear the bells of the other sledges, they
get quite wild! Dear, kind Mr. Hamilton, I shall love you all my life if
you will only take us home again.”
Gustle, shocked by his mother’s unwonted humility of manner, and
imagining himself in the most imminent danger, commenced roaring with
all his might, and Hamilton turned his horses, while assuring Madame
Rosenberg they were the gentlest animals in the world, and it was only
the fine weather that had put them in spirits.
On their return they found a respectable-looking hackney coach placed on
a sledge waiting at the door. Crescenz, her little brother Peppy, and
Major Stultz were preparing to enter it.
“I will go with you,” cried Madame Rosenberg, joining them, “Gustle must
not lose his drive—Mr. Hamilton’s horses are much too wild for me!”
“I thought as much,” said Major Stultz, with evident satisfaction.
“Am I permitted to ask Mademoiselle Hildegarde to go with me?” asked
Hamilton.
“Yes, but you must tell her how your horses have frightened me, and you
must promise to drive on the Nymphenburg road where we can see you, and
you must not go farther than the palace, and back again.”
“Agreed,” said Hamilton.
“And you must on no account quit the sledge, or enter the inn.”
“Of course not.”
Hildegarde was surprised to see him so soon again. He explained, and
asked her if she were afraid to trust herself to his care.
“No, I believe you drive well.”
“Rather—but I have never had a sledge until now—and they seem slippery
concerns.”
“I have heard that being thrown out of one is more uncomfortable than
dangerous,” said Hildegarde, laughing as she entered her room to dress
herself.
The horses pawed the half-frozen snow, and were even more impatient than
before—but this time no hand was laid on his arm, no stifled scream
vexed his ear. Hildegarde admired the silver serpents which ornamented
the front of the sledge—the silver bells which glittered on the harness,
and the gay scarlet tassels which the horses flung in the air with every
movement—the blue sky—the dazzling snow; and Hamilton, perfectly
reassured, was soon able to prove to his horses that he no longer feared
to correct them.
In a few minutes they had overtaken and passed the hackney sledge,
containing the rest of the party, nor was it long before they reached
Nymphenburg.
“What shall we do now?” said Hamilton. “I promised your mother not to go
farther than the palace; I am sure the others are not yet half-way here;
must we go home so soon?”
“Drive round and round this enclosure until they come, it will amuse us
and exercise the horses,” replied Hildegarde.
They drove round several times, each time quicker than the preceding,
while Hans, with extraordinary energy, cracked the pliant leather whip
peculiar to sledges. Several people collected to look on, among others a
carter, with an empty wagon. One of his horses was young and unbroken;
as the sledge passed, it plunged, and rattled its heavy harness;
Hamilton’s horses shied, dashed into the deep snow heaped up beside the
road, upset the sledge, and then struggled violently to make themselves
free. Hamilton still contrived to hold the reins until his servant came
to his assistance, and then rushed to Hildegarde, who had been thrown to
some distance. A crowd had soon gathered round her.
“Hildegarde, dearest, are you hurt?” he asked, anxiously.
“Not in the least,” she answered, laughing, while she shook the snow
from her cloak, “not in the least; I was thrown at the first jerk into
the fresh snow, and every time I attempted to get up I fell back again,
until I received assistance, for which I thank you,” she said, turning
to some strangers; and then she added hurriedly to Hamilton, “Let us go
home.”
The sledge had been easily set to rights, and they once more drove off
at a furious pace.
“As wild a young pair as ever I saw,” observed an officer to his wife,
as they turned towards the inn to rest, and refresh themselves with a
cup of coffee.
“We have disobeyed your mother,” began Hamilton, “unintentionally
indeed, but——”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, she forbade our leaving the sledge on any account whatever,” said
Hamilton, laughing; “now, I don’t in the least mind being lectured by
her, but I confess I do not enjoy the idea of Major Stultz’s triumph.
How unmercifully I shall be laughed at!”
“I don’t see any necessity for saying anything about the matter,” said
Hildegarde; “if you choose to be silent, I shall never refer to the
subject; in fact, I was altogether to blame, it was my proposition
driving round that enclosure, and it was I who encouraged you to worry
the horses, in order to show you that I was not afraid of them.”
“The carter and his young horse were to blame,” said Hamilton; “he ought
not to have come so close to us; but I should be very glad to escape
Major Stultz’s heavy raillery. Do you hear, Hans—you fell out of the
sledge in your sleep—not even to your father must you say otherwise than
that my horses are as steady as oxen. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Perhaps the fear of being questioned induced Hamilton when returning to
pass the others so quickly that he did not hear their cries to him to
stop and return to Nymphenburg. Perhaps the wish to be once more alone
with his companion for half an hour made him urge his horses to their
hardest trot: if the latter had been his object, his annoyance may be
conceived when, on reaching home, just as they had begun to ascend the
stairs together, gayly laughing, he perceived Count Raimund standing
above them. He had seen their arrival from the Hoffmanns’ window, and
rushed out under pretence of a joke, but, in reality, to waylay them.
Hamilton could not conceal his vexation; he frowned, and muttered the
words “Everlasting bore!” which made Hildegarde’s countenance change in
a manner that irritated her cousin. “Hildegarde, I must speak to you,”
he began abruptly.
“Speak on,” she said, continuing to ascend the stairs.
“I must ask you a question—and—we must be alone.”
“You are peremptory—ask differently, and per—haps I may comply with your
request.”
Count Raimund grasped—not gently—his cousin’s arm—she turned
round—became very pale—and requested Hamilton, in a low voice, to go up
stairs—she would follow him directly.
“Do you really wish me to go?” he asked, hesitatingly. “Do you remain
willingly with your cousin? Remember,” he added indignantly, “the
nearest relationship cannot authorise such——”
Count Raimund made a violent gesture—Hildegarde placed herself between
them, and said hurriedly, “I—I do wish to speak to Oscar,” and Hamilton
instantly left them.
Directly he was gone her manner totally changed. “Your question, Oscar,
and quickly,” she said, haughtily, “I have no intention of remaining on
the cold staircase more than a few minutes.”
“Gently, gently, Hildegarde—you think the danger is over now your
treasure is out of sight—but you see how ready he is to quarrel, with
all his coolness—be careful, for——”
“Your question,” said Hildegarde, leaning against the wall, with a sigh
of resignation.
“Did this a—this Englishman condescend to claim his sledging right from
you?”
“No.”
“Did he not think it worth while?” said Raimund, sneeringly.
“Very probably. Have you anything else to observe?”
“Yes, false girl!” cried Raimund, vehemently, “you know this is not the
case—you know this is not the case—you know he loves you—his every look
betrays him; but, by heaven, if you grant him what I, your nearest
relative, have so long implored in vain—his life shall be the forfeit——”
“Always threatening!” exclaimed Hildegarde, indignantly.
“It is my only means to obtain a moment’s attention from you. He little
knows that to his influence alone I am indebted for every favour—for
every common civility I receive from you!”
“He little knows that, indeed!” said Hildegarde, bitterly, “were he
aware of it, he would soon release me from my thraldom.”
“Tell him—tell him. I desire nothing more than that matters should come
to extremities. Your look incredulous, Hildegarde. Hear me, and judge
for yourself. Pecuniary difficulties have often made men put an end to
their existence—and you know what mine are! Add to this a violent and
hopeless love, and the certainty of being obliged, in a week or ten
days, to marry a person for whom I never can feel a particle of either
affection or admiration!”
“But who is worthy of both!” cried Hildegarde.
“Perhaps so—I wish Marie every happiness with another—for myself,” he
added, folding his arms and looking musingly down the stairs; “I wish to
die, to die soon—and quickly—but not by my own hand. They say it is a
fearful crime to commit suicide. Were I certain of being shot by
Hamilton, I should not hesitate—he must then leave Bavaria and you for
ever—but the chances are I should shoot him—I hate him so intensely that
the temptation would be more than I could resist.”
“Horrible!” cried Hildegarde, covering her face with her hands. “How can
you deliberately think of committing murder?”
“That’s it—that’s what I mean; you see, Hildegarde, death is my only
resource; but I shudder at the thought of staining my hands with other
blood than my own. The double crime is more than I can resolve upon.”
“Ah, I see now,” said she, forcing a smile; “you are only trying to
frighten me, as you have often done before.”
He shook his head, and continued. “As long as I had the faintest hope of
obtaining your affection, I was a different being; you might have made
of me what you pleased—and I _should_ have gained your love but for this
supercilious Englishman, for you were disposed to like me at first.”
“As a relation—yes.”
“More than that—much more, Hildegarde,” cried Raimund, vehemently.
“And had I loved you more than as a cousin, what purpose would it have
served? Our relationship is too near to permit of a marriage.”
“Nothing easier than obtaining a dispensation,” cried Raimund, eagerly,
and in a moment losing all violence of manner and voice.
“But we are both without fortune,” said Hildegarde.
“I could quit the army. There are many situations which I could obtain.
We should be poor, indeed, very poor; but what is poverty when—— Oh!
Hildegarde, has this consideration caused your coldness, or are you——
What a fool I am!” he exclaimed, passionately. “She treats me like a
madman from whom she would escape without witnessing a paroxysm! Go, you
have tortured me—deliberately—most horribly. Go, I would hate you if I
could!”
Hildegarde began slowly to ascend the stairs; as she turned to the next
flight an unusual sound made her look downwards, and she perceived her
cousin vainly endeavouring to suppress the fearful emotion which
agitated his whole frame. A man’s tears are a phenomenon too rare to be
seen unmoved. Hildegarde stopped, and held out her hand. “Oscar, dear
Oscar, what I said was not in heartlessness, but in the hope of
convincing you of the utter impossibility of our ever being more to each
other than cousins. Think of your solemn engagement to Marie—of your
promises to your father. Remember that no situation you could ever
obtain would enable you to pay your debts!”
“True—most true. I was dreaming just now,” said Raimund, with forced
composure. “I am sorry to have kept you so long here—in the cold. Go,
Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you!”
“He is not. I shall most probably not see him until evening.”
Raimund looked up, smiled mournfully, and then rushed down the stairs.
A minute later Hildegarde was in her room; her cloak and boa almost
suffocated her, and she shook them off impatiently, sank on a chair, and
murmured: “What shall I do? What ought I to do? Oscar will quarrel with
him—kill him, and I shall be the cause. He must leave Munich—leave us,
and return to England.” Here she sprang from her chair, and walked up
and down the room for a few minutes. “Is there, then, no other way of
keeping him out of danger? Suppose he could be induced to go to the
Z—’s? He said he intended to visit them. If he only could go until after
Oscar’s marriage? A fortnight—only two weeks, and all danger would be
over! I must speak to him, even if he insists on knowing everything. I
wonder if he is in the drawing-room?”
He was not, nor in the school-room, and she had not the courage to seek
him in his apartment. She hoped to find an opportunity in the course of
the next day, although with female quickness she had already observed
that he no longer sought to be alone with her, or in any way to occupy
her attention. Hamilton’s motives were honourable, but he could scarcely
have chosen a more judicious mode of conduct in order to facilitate
their intercourse; it had already convinced Mr. Rosenberg of his
indifference to his daughter just when he had begun to entertain
suspicions to the contrary, and confirmed Madame Rosenberg in the idea
that Hamilton actually disliked her.
After wandering about the house for some time, Hildegarde returned to
her room, and endeavoured to arrange her thoughts, and her balls of
coloured worsted and silks, until the return of her family. They came
late, and talked loudly and gayly on their arrival. When Crescenz
entered the room, she immediately exclaimed, “Oh! Hildegarde, we have
had such a pleasant party—such a number of people, and such good coffee!
and the Bergers. Oh dear, I was so sorry that you and——but I had almost
forgotten, mamma says you must make tea directly for Mr. Hamilton, he is
going to the theatre, there is an opera, and he wishes to hear the
overture.”
Hildegarde pushed back her work-frame, and left the room to seek the
breakfast service of highly gilt china, which Madame Rosenberg had
received as a wedding-present, and which, though certainly intended by
the donor to have been “kept for show,” she had latterly appropriated to
Hamilton’s use, whenever he drank tea alone, and this was generally the
case the evenings he went to the theatre. When she carried it to the
drawing-room, she found her father, mother, and Major Stultz with him,
and as she poured out the weak beverage, and arranged the plate of bread
and butter, her mother continued speaking—“We thought you did not choose
to hear us—but then what motive could you have?”
“What! indeed!” said Hamilton.
“The Major shouted the word Nymphenburg and coffee as loud as he could;
he thought they might give you an idea what we meant.”
“We heard nothing. The confounded bells made such a noise.”
“The bells are very useful when it grows foggy, or dark, as we found
this evening,” observed Major Stultz.
“Hildegarde, you may light the candles—Mr. Hamilton cannot find the way
to his mouth.”
Hildegarde brought them, while Crescenz, who had joined the others,
continued repeating: “So pleasant, so gay! So many people! And then
about the upset—did you relate about that?”
“No,” cried Hamilton, looking up; “pray tell me about it. You don’t mean
to say you were upset?”
“Oh, no! But a young Englishman and his wife were thrown out of their
sledge to-day when they were driving around the palings at Nymphenburg.
Captain What’s-his-name told us all about it, and they were so young and
so handsome, he said.”
“Your countrymen can drive mail-coaches better than sledges,” said Major
Stultz, laughing.
“It is not proved that they were English,” said Hamilton, with a smile
only perceptible to Hildegarde. “They may have been Germans.”
“Zimmermann said they were certainly English, and he understands the
language. The lady thanked him in French for extricating her out of the
snow; he says she was quite English-looking, and uncommonly handsome!”
“I have no doubt of his judgment on that subject,” said Hamilton.
“And,” said Crescenz, “her husband seemed so fond of her, and said all
sorts of things to her when he assisted her into the sledge again!”
“All sorts of things!” cried Hamilton, laughing; “such as, for
instance——”
“Oh, I cannot say the English words—I have never heard you say anything
that sounded like them.”
“Of course not—I must wait until I have a wife, I suppose.”
Hildegarde’s face had flushed during this conversation. Hamilton seemed
so much amused with it, that he forgot the overture he had been so
anxious to hear. “Your friend did not know at all who they were?” he
asked, bending over his tea-cup.
“Not in the least,” answered Major Stultz; “but the lady made a great
impression on Zimmermann, he seemed altogether to have fallen in love
with her?”
“Oh, ho!” exclaimed Mr. Rosenberg, “what did his wife say to that?”
“She said she had no cause for jealousy, the Englishwoman did not look
at anyone—she only seemed anxious to assure her husband that she was not
in the least hurt, though she must have been considerably bruised, and
she appeared to wish everyone else at the bottom of the sea! A good
example for you, Crescenz, next month, eh?”
Crescenz looked silly, and turned away.
“Half-past six!” cried Mr. Rosenberg, looking at his watch; “I must be
off. Mr. Hamilton seems to forget that he intended to go with me to the
theatre. The overture will be over.”
“But not the ballet,” said Hamilton, “and the ballet in _Robert_ is what
I like best; if I be in time for that and the Princess’s _aria_, I am
satisfied.”
Mr. Rosenberg, who went regularly four times a week to the theatre, and
particularly disliked arriving late, partly from the fear of being
obliged to walk over his neighbors’ feet in order to reach his chair,
partly from long habits of punctuality, after a few minutes’ indulgence
of civilly expressive impatience, quitted the room, bowing over his
watch, which he still held in his hand, as a sort of excuse to Hamilton.
“I thought you intended to go to?” said Crescenz to Major Stultz.
“Yes, Zimmermann has given me his place to-night, but I believe I shall
wait for Mr. Hamilton.”
“I shall be delighted,” said Hamilton, “but you must not expect me to
leave this warm room for an hour at least.”
“An hour!” exclaimed Major Stultz; “why, half the opera will be over.”
“Very likely, but I have heard it so often.”
“Do you forget the ballet?”
“Very likely I shall,” said Hamilton.
“I knew,” cried Crescenz, “I knew he did not really care for the
ballet.”
“Excuse me, but I do care for the ballet, and I should care more for it
if the dancers were prettier, and had not such thick ankles!”
“Smooth waters run deep,” said Major Stultz. “It is a pity, Crescenz,
your mother did not hear that speech, she would hardly have believed her
own ears!”
“Why not?” said Hamilton. “Do you mean to say that you do not, or did
not formerly, like seeing a ballet and pretty women too?”
“We will not discuss this subject in the presence of the young ladies,”
said Major Stultz.
“There is nothing to discuss,” said Hamilton, carelessly; “I like seeing
pretty faces, and pretty ankles, and graceful figures, and I believe I
am not singular in my taste; perhaps, however, you prefer the flowing
hair which will be exhibited to-night. By-the-by, one girl has the very
longest and thickest hair I ever saw. Have you not observed it?”
“Yes; Crescenz’s, however, is nearly as long, I should think,” replied
Major Stultz, touching the thick plaits which were wound round the back
of her head.
“She would make a charming ballet-dancer in every respect,” murmured
Hamilton in French, while he laughingly glanced at her.
“What does he say?” asked Major Stultz, who observed that Crescenz
blushed and smiled alternately. “What does he say?”
“To think of his caring so much for a ballet!” answered Crescenz,
evasively, while she still blushed, and then laughed as she added, “and
you know all mamma said about his being religious, and not going out in
the evenings, or on Sunday to the theatre.”
“I suspect your mother has a better opinion of him than he deserves,”
whispered Major Stultz. Crescenz, however, shook her head so
incredulously, or so coquettishly, that he added, “Do not think me
jealous; it is impossible, now that I know who is the real object of his
devotion.”
“Ah, you mean Hildegarde,” said Crescenz, carelessly.
“Oh, no.”
“Who then?” asked Crescenz, turning towards him quickly, curiosity
depicted in every feature, “who?”
“I can scarcely tell you—as he has chosen a married woman——”
Crescenz looked aghast. Major Stultz’s jealousy conquered his usual
circumspection—the moment was too favourable for making an impression—he
bent towards her and whispered, “No other than your friend, Madame
Berger.”
“Impossible!”
“Certain, nevertheless. When your mother forbade his returning here, he
was invited to spend his disengaged evenings at her house. He knows the
Doctor well; besides, Berger is Zedwitz’s physician, and they have often
met lately. Had the thing been feasible, Hamilton would, I have no
doubt, have taken up his quarters in their house!”
Crescenz for once in her life seemed to think, and think deeply. All
Major Stultz’s efforts to continue the conversation were fruitless; she
bent her head over her work, and scarcely heard his excuses and regrets
that he was going to the theatre without her. After he had left the
room, there was a long pause. Hildegarde had been leaning her head on
her hand for the last half hour, apparently unconscious of what was
going on about her. Crescenz moved softly towards her, and on pretence
of consulting her about her work, contrived to relate what she had just
heard.
Hildegarde became so suddenly and remarkably pale, that Hamilton, who
was in the habit of watching her, immediately perceived it, and
exclaimed, “What is the matter? Are you ill?”
“Not in the least,” she answered, hastily rising and walking to the
other end of the room.
“But is it not odious?” cried Crescenz, indignantly; “she is the very
last person I should have thought of!”
“And the very first I should have suspected,” said Hildegarde.
The house-bell rang, and a slight noise in the passage was followed by
the entrance of the person who had been the subject of conversation.
“How very odd!” exclaimed Crescenz, while Madame Berger, advancing
towards Hamilton, held out her hand, saying, “_A l’Anglaise_; how I like
your English custom of shaking hands—it is so friendly! _Bon soir_,
Hildegarde. Give me a kiss, Cressy. Here I am, come all in the snow on
foot to talk over our first ball, eh? and to arrange the party of which
we spoke,” she added, turning to Hamilton.
“How provoking—and I am just preparing to go to the theatre!”
“You most uncivil person! Can you not bestow half an hour on me?”
“An hour—two hours, if you in the slightest degree wish it. My regrets
were for myself.”
Hildegarde and Crescenz look at each other.
“I have not,” he continued gayly, “forgotten the pleasant evenings which
I spent in your house during my banishment—they will ever remain among
my most agreeable recollections.”
“Perhaps I may give them a place among mine too,” said Madame Berger,
seating herself on the sofa, and taking her knitting apparatus out of
her pocket. Her fingers were soon in such quick motion, that it was
impossible to follow them, but so expert was she in this kind of work,
that her head turned in every direction, and her eyes wandered round the
room as if she had been totally unoccupied. “Why, girls, what is the
matter with you both this evening? I never saw you so dull. We can fancy
ourselves _tête-à-tête_,” she said, laughingly, to Hamilton, “if you
would only cease playing with your teaspoon and sit down beside me
here.”
Hamilton immediately took the offered place, and Madame Berger, half
playfully, half maliciously, turned quite away from the sisters. “Well,”
she continued, glancing covertly toward them; to-morrow is our first
ball; “of course you have heard of our muslin dresses and wreaths of
roses?”
“No,” said Hamilton, “I only returned here yesterday evening, and have
heard nothing about it. Where is the ball?”
“At the Museum. You are a member of the club, I believe—it is there you
read the foreign newspapers, you know. I shall keep a waltz or galop for
you.”
“To-morrow, did you say? and I am invited to a private ball at Court! If
it were only the day after!”
“This all comes from cholera!” cried Madame Berger, in a tone of
vexation. “Everything heaped together at the end of the carnival! There
is to be a masquerade at the theatre on Monday; you said you wished to
go to one; let us at least arrange something about that.”
“Can you not promise to be of the party?” said Hamilton, turning to
Hildegarde.
“It will altogether depend upon papa,” she answered coldly, and then
left the room without looking towards the speakers.
“Come here, Crescenz,” said Madame Berger, “come here, and I will tell
you how we can manage it: your mother intends to go some day or other to
see her father. Why not on Monday, if Mr. Hamilton offers his sledge?”
“Oh, she is so afraid of his horses, that nothing would tempt her to
take them.”
“Well, then, the Doctor must lend his old greys, for on Monday both she
and your father must be out of the way. Don’t be so stupid as to say
this to Hildegarde, however!”
“Oh, mamma will never trust us with you alone,” said Crescenz.
“I suspected as much, and have engaged old Lustig to go with us; she
will do whatever we please, and I have promised to arrange a ‘bat’ for
her like my own; we will all go as bats. Shall we be black or white?”
“Which is the most becoming?” asked Crescenz.
“Becoming! why, child, I do believe you don’t know what I mean. A bat as
mask means a domino so arranged that one cannot see even the form of the
head, the smallest lock of hair, or even quite know whether the person
be a man or woman.”
“I thought we should have had something pretty,” said Crescenz,
disappointed, “such as Grecian costumes.”
“You may dress yourself as a Greek or a Turk, if you like, but you may
be recognised and tormented. For my part, I go to worry others, and have
decided on a black domino—a complete capuchin; Mr. Hamilton and Madame
Lustig the same; you and Hildegarde may of course arrange as you
please.”
“Oh, dear! I am afraid Hildegarde will not go without asking papa’s
leave.”
“Don’t say a word more about the matter to her; she will think we have
forgotten it, and—when papa and mamma are gone, I will come and arrange
everything.”
“Oh, dear, how nice!” cried Crescenz, seating herself confidentially
beside her friend, but a moment after she sprang up, assumed a dignified
air, and walked towards the door.
“You don’t mean to leave us, Cressy?” exclaimed Madame Berger,
surprised.
“I am going to tell mamma that you are here,” she replied, stiffly.
“Oh, my dear creature, she has heard from Walburg long ago. She is
engaged with the children, or counting linen, or something of that sort.
Stay here like a love, and play propriety.”
“But I don’t choose to play propriety,” said Crescenz, angrily, as she
left the room.
Madame Berger looked amazed for a moment, and then burst into a fit of
laughter. “I do believe the child is jealous!” she exclaimed. “How
ridiculous! how amusing! I wish it were Hildegarde—I would give—what
would I not give to make _her_ jealous for half an hour! It would be
sublime! Theodor could assist me if he chose.”
“You think she likes him?” said Hamilton.
“He says not, but I can discover no other person. Can you believe that
she cares for no one?”
“She cares a great deal for her father?” answered Hamilton.
“Ah, bah—a person of her violent temperament must have a _grande_
passion before this time.”
“I have not lately seen anything like violence,” said Hamilton.
“A certain proof that she is desirous of pleasing some one.”
“I should have no objection to be the person she is desirous of
pleasing,” said Hamilton; “she is perfectly amiable with her father;
should she bestow one of the looks intended for him upon me, I confess I
should be——”
“And has she really never tried to make you say civil things to her?”
asked Madame Berger, quickly.
“On the contrary, she has provoked me to say very _un_civil things
sometimes.”
“And so you have been obliged to amuse yourself with poor simple
Crescenz?”
“Who,” said Hamilton, “is the most innocent being in the world—a pretty
child——”
“A pretty fool!” cried Madame Berger, “but let us talk of our
masquerade—you will go at all events?”
“Certainly.”
“And dressed in black—and masked?”
“Agreed.”
“You have no idea how amusing it is! One can say all sorts of
impertinent things—even to the royal family when they are present. Masks
are allowed perfect impunity.”
“But should you be discovered afterwards?”
“I shall deny knowing anything about the matter, of course.”
Hamilton had not time to reply by word or look, for at this moment
supper was announced.
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