A DAY OF FREEDOM.
SOME days passed over remarkably tranquilly. Crescenz’s marriage was to
take place in a fortnight, and she and Hildegarde had promised to be
bridesmaids to Marie de Hoffmann the beginning of the ensuing week.
Hildegarde made no further effort to warn Hamilton about her cousin;
perhaps she now deemed it unnecessary, as the young men openly showed
their mutual antipathy, and avoided even the most formal intercourse.
One fine afternoon, when Hamilton was about to drive out in his sledge,
he perceived Crescenz hovering about him mysteriously. Major Stultz, who
was in the room, seemed to embarrass her, but at length she murmured, in
French, “I have something to say to you.”
“I have been aware of it for the last half hour, and have remained here
on purpose to hear it,” said Hamilton.
“You always forget that Mr. Hamilton speaks German perfectly well,
Crescenz,” observed Major Stultz. “I take it for granted you have no
secret from me!”
“Oh, dear, no,” said Crescenz, with a slight laugh, “I always speak
French when I am not thinking of anything in particular. You know for
many years I never spoke any other language;” and while she spoke, she
carelessly upset her work-basket, the contents of which rolled in all
directions on the painted floor.
“Dear me! How awkward I am!” she exclaimed, half laughing, while Major
Stultz, with evident difficulty, began to pick up the dispersed
articles. “My scarlet wool is behind the sofa; Mr. Hamilton, will you be
so kind——”
Hamilton moved the sofa. There was no scarlet wool, but a slip of paper
dropped from Crescenz’s hand; he immediately took possession of it, and
her eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Thank you, thank you, I believe I have
everything now. Oh, by-the-by, Mr. Hamilton, if you have time, I wish
you would call on Lina Berger, and ask her why she has not been here
since the ball?”
Hamilton hesitated.
“Tell her my wedding-day is fixed, and I want to consult her about my
veil. You will go to her, I hope?”
“If—you—wish it—but——”
“No buts, I hate buts,” said Crescenz, laughing, and then making an
inexplicable grimace to him apart.
When out of the room, he inspected the slip of paper, on which was
written in French:
“You have offended Lina Berger by not dancing with her. Make up your
quarrel as fast as you can, or we shall lose all chance of going to the
masquerade.”
“I had forgotten all about the masquerade,” thought Hamilton, “and must
make my peace directly with the little person. She shall drive out with
me this very day to arrange matters. Fortunately, she has said at least
half a dozen times that she likes sledging—I ought to have taken the
hint long ago——”
What his excuses were is not recorded—they did not seem to interest him
particularly, as only the result is known. Madame Berger drove out in
his sledge, the party was arranged, and the next morning, at breakfast,
a note was brought to Madame Rosenberg, offering Dr. Berger’s carriage
and horses for the day of the masquerade.
“How good-natured of Lina to remember that I wished to see my father and
introduce the Major to him,” she exclaimed, handing the neatly-written
note to her husband; “I would rather it had been any other day than
Monday, as you know Mademoiselle de Hoffmann’s marriage is to take place
on Tuesday, and it will be disagreeable returning home so early the next
day; however, that cannot be avoided.”
“Easily enough, I should think,” observed Mr. Rosenberg, quietly; “Mr.
Hamilton has often proposed lending us his horses, and all days are
alike to him, I know.”
Before Hamilton could answer, Madame Rosenberg exclaimed, “His horses?
Not for any consideration in the world! Besides, his sledge is only for
two persons and a servant, and I wish to take the boys and the Major
with us.”
“In that case, I think we had better take a job carriage for a day and a
half.”
“No use in paying for what we can have for nothing,” said Madame
Rosenberg; “so if you have no objection, I shall accept the offer.”
“As you please,” said her husband. “A visit to the iron-works is not
exactly what I enjoy most in the world.”
“Crescenz,” said Madame Rosenberg, taking no notice of this remark,
“Crescenz, just put on your bonnet, and slip over to old Madame
Lustig’s; ask her if she can take charge of you and Hildegarde on
Monday; but she must spend the whole day here, and promise to sleep in
the nursery.”
Crescenz left the room, not without slightly glancing towards Hamilton,
and primly pressing her lips together to repress a smile.
“I don’t like Madame Lustig,” said Hildegarde, abruptly.
“Why?” asked Hamilton.
“Because she so evidently tries to please everybody.”
“Better than evidently trying to please no one,” said her mother,
sharply. “However, whether you like her or not, if she take charge of
you and Crescenz on Monday, I expect you will do whatever she desires,
and consider her as in my place.”
Hildegarde looked up as if about to remonstrate, caught her father’s
eyes, and then bent over her coffee-cup without speaking.
Madame Lustig made no difficulties and many promises. She arrived the
next morning, when they were all breakfasting together, at an unusually
early hour, listened patiently to Madame Rosenberg’s directions about
locking the house-door, and fastening the windows, and examining the
stoves, and then accompanied them to the carriage with Hamilton,
Hildegarde, and Crescenz. Major Stultz seemed very much inclined to
remain behind, but Crescenz whispered rather loudly, “that mamma had
been so kind about her _trousseau_, that he ought to visit grandpapa.”
“What an artful little animal it is, after all!” thought Hamilton, “and
how different from——” He looked towards Hildegarde, who, all unconscious
of their plans, after having twisted a black silk scarf round her
father’s neck, stood rubbing her hands, and slightly shivering in the
cold morning air.
“Adieu, adieu,” was repeated in every possible tone, while the carriage
drove off. A moment afterwards, Crescenz was scampering up the stairs,
dragging Madame Lustig after her; and when Hamilton and Hildegarde, who
followed more leisurely, reached the door, they were obliged to remain
there, for Crescenz, dancing a galop with Madame Lustig, was now forcing
her backwards the whole length of the passage at a tremendous pace, the
jolly old woman keeping the step, and springing with all her might for
fear of falling. Hamilton and Hildegarde looked on, laughing.
At length they stopped for want of breath. “Well—what—shall we—do
first?” said Crescenz, twisting up her hair, which had fallen on her
shoulders.
“Do!” panted Madame Lustig, as she leaned against the wall. “You have
nearly—killed me—this is not the way to make me able to go to the
masqu——”
In a moment Crescenz’s apron was over her head, and a new struggle
began.
“I asked you what we should do first?” cried Crescenz, laughing,
“suppose—suppose we make ice-cream? Mamma has left me the keys, and
allowed me to take whatever I like from the store-room. You have a good
receipt, I am sure; let us make the cream, and Mr. Hamilton and
Hildegarde can turn it round in the ice-pail!”
“Shall we not first arrange with Walburg about the dinner?”
“Oh, dinner! how very disagreeable to be obliged to eat dinner! Cannot
we for once, just by way of a joke,” she said coaxingly, “have something
instead of dinner?”
“Soup, boiled beef, and steam noodles are, however, not to be despised;
and that is what your mother ordered,” said Madame Lustig; “besides, on
Mr. Hamilton’s account, you ought——”
“Oh, I have no objection to dining on ice-cream,” said Hamilton,
laughing.
“You see!” said Crescenz, “Mr. Hamilton is so—so——You see he will do
whatever we wish. Let us make some cakes out of the cookery-book, and
then we can all be merry together in the kitchen!”
A sort of compromise was made. The soup and boiled beef were allowed,
but the ice-cream and several kinds of cakes were to be forthwith
fabricated. Madame Lustig was, like most Germans in her station in life,
an excellent cook; she was also a good-humoured, thoughtless person, and
soon became quite as unrestrained as her young companions. Her cap and
false curls were laid aside, her sleeves tucked up, a capacious white
apron bound over her black silk dress, and she was immediately employed
in beating up eggs and pounding sugar. Hamilton amused himself singing
aloud the cookery-book in recitative, until, in the course of time, he
was duly established with Hildegarde near a window in the corridor, a
large bucket of ice between them, in which was placed the pail
containing the cream. They turned it round alternately, and Crescenz
occasionally inspected the process, dancing with delight as it began to
freeze.
“Oh, dear! how nice! I hope it will not melt before Lina Berger comes.
Is this window cool enough?”
“Cool!” said Hildegarde, laughing; “try it for a few minutes, and you
will say cold, I think.”
“Could you not spare Mr. Hamilton for a little while, Hildegarde? We
want him to pound sugar; our arms positively ache, and Walburg is not
yet come back from market.”
Hildegarde made no objection, and Hamilton was conducted back to the
kitchen, from whence, immediately, repeated bursts of laughter issued.
The arrival of Madame Berger seemed to increase the noise; she
closed the kitchen-door, but Hildegarde distinctly heard the
words: “Congratulate—freedom for one day at least—make good
use—amusement—Hildegarde—hush.” A short whispering ensued, and at
length Madame Lustig made her appearance, inspected the ice-cream,
and proposed putting it outside the window. “There is no use in
your tormenting yourself longer, my dear,” she said, smiling; “we
have something else to interest us; come, we must hold a
consultation.”
“About what?” asked Hamilton.
“About a masquerade; were you ever at one?”
“Oh, yes, at school we had one almost every year; I was always ordered
to be a Greek or a Circassian.”
“Ah, that was children’s play among ourselves; but I mean a real
masquerade!”
“You mean the public masquerades—at the theatre, perhaps?”
“Just so; should you like to go to one?”
“To be sure I should, of all things!” cried Hildegarde, eagerly. “When
is it?”
“To-night.”
Her countenance fell. “Oh, if we had only known it sooner. If we had
only been able to ask papa!”
“There! I told you,” cried Madame Berger, coming out of the kitchen,
followed by the others, “I knew she would make all sort of difficulties,
and spoil Crescenz’s pleasure!”
“I am sure,” said Madame Lustig, “neither your father nor mother would
have any objection; when I go with you, and Madame Berger, and Mr.
Hamilton.”
“It is true mamma said I was to do whatever you desired me——” began
Hildegarde, with some hesitation.
“Oh, I will _command_ your attendance, if that will be any relief to
your conscience,” cried Madame Lustig, with a loud laugh.
Hildegarde coloured deeply, and looked towards Hamilton; he was eating
almonds and raisins from a plate, which Madame Berger held towards him.
“Let us talk about our masks, and not about our consciences,” cried the
latter. “I must go home to dinner, or the Doctor will be impatient. We
are to be black bats; black silk dresses; black dominoes, with hanging
sleeves, and hoods; masks half black, and a knot of white ribbon under
the chin, that we may know each other. How many dominoes shall I order?”
“For us all, Lina, for us all!” cried Crescenz, eagerly.
“We may as well dress at your house,” cried Madame Lustig. “It is not
necessary that Walburg should know anything about the matter. The Doctor
will have gone out before seven.”
“Oh, yes, you may come at half-past six; I must have time to dress Mr.
Hamilton as well as myself, you know! Adieu, _au revoir_.”
Immediately after dinner, Hildegarde put on a black dress, and came to
the drawing-room where Hamilton was sitting, or rather reclining, on the
sofa, reading; she leaned slightly over him, and almost in a whisper
asked if he were disposed to give her advice, should she request it.
“I don’t know,” answered Hamilton, looking up with a smile; “I have been
so long dismissed from the office of preceptor, that I have quite got
out of the habit of giving advice.”
“Forget that you have been preceptor, and take the name of friend,” said
Hildegarde; “we shall get on better, I think.”
“I like the proposition,” cried Hamilton, quickly rising from his
recumbent position, “our ages are suitable. Let us,” he added, laughing,
“let us now swear an eternal friendship.”
“Agreed,” said Hildegarde, accepting his offered hand. “And now, tell
me, shall I go to this masquerade or not?”
“I thought you had already decided!”
“Not quite. I wish very much to go, that is the simple truth; but I
fear, that under the name of obedience to Madame Lustig I am trying to
persuade myself, that I am following my mother’s injunctions; while, in
fact, I am only seeking an excuse to do what I wish. Do you understand
me?”
“Perfectly.”
“And you think, perhaps, I ought not to go?”
“I think—indeed I am sure, that I can give you no advice on the subject.
I am too much interested in your decision, to be a ‘righteous judge.’”
“How are you interested?”
“Simply thus; if you do not go, the whole party is spoiled for me.”
Hildegarde was silent for more than a minute. She did not disclaim; she
knew he had spoken his thoughts. “If,” she said at length, “if I had
only known it in time to have asked my father’s leave, I really do think
he would have had no objection.”
“If you think that, you may decide on going with a clear conscience.”
“Is this your opinion—advice?”
“I give no advice,” said Hamilton, laughing, “I only wish you to go.”
“Then—I—will go,” said Hildegarde, thoughtfully; “go—notwithstanding a
kind of misgiving which I cannot overcome, a sort of a warning—a
presentiment——”
“I should rather have suspected your sister of having misgivings and
warnings, than you,” said Hamilton; “yet she seems to have none.”
“She is governed by her wishes, and Lina Berger; besides, it is not
likely that anything unpleasant should occur to her!”
“And to you?” asked Hamilton, surprised.
“Not likely, either,” said Hildegarde, gayly; “for, thank goodness,
Oscar must spend the evening with Marie, when they are to be married
to-morrow.”
Raimund had been but once at the Rosenbergs’ since the ball, and had
played cards the whole evening. Hamilton knew that she had not since
spoken to him. Yet, no sooner had she pronounced her cousin’s name, than
all his feelings changed; he bit his lip, and walked to the window.
“I wish——” began Hildegarde, but she suddenly stopped, for she
recognised Raimund’s voice speaking to her sister in the passage.
Hamilton strode across the room.
“Oh, stay! stay, I entreat of you!” she cried, anxiously.
“Do you not wish to be alone with your cousin?”
“No, no, no—that is,” she added, hurriedly, “yes—perhaps it is better——”
“As you please,” said Hamilton, moving again towards the door.
Hildegarde seemed greatly embarrassed. “If you would only promise not to
say anything to make——”
“I really do not understand you,” cried Hamilton, impatiently.
“When he has been here for a minute or two,” she said, quickly, “go for
Crescenz and Madame Lustig, say they must come here—must remain——” Her
cousin entered the room while she was speaking.
“I am sorry to interrupt you, my dear Hildegarde,” he said, with a stiff
and evidently forced smile, “but I come to take leave——”
“Take leave! what do you mean?”
“I am to be executed to-morrow, you know.”
“Ah!—so——”
“It is particularly kind of you and Crescenz to put on mourning for me
beforehand,” he continued, glancing gravely at her black dress.
“Oscar, how can you talk so?” said Hildegarde, reproachfully; “such
jesting is, to-day, particularly ill-timed.”
“By heaven, I am not jesting. I never was less disposed to mirth than at
this moment,” he answered, falling heavily into a chair, and drawing his
handkerchief across his forehead.
“Have you been with Marie?”
“Yes.”
“And you will return to her?”
“I suppose I must.”
Here Hamilton precipitately left the room to summon Madame Lustig and
Crescenz, but they were much too busily engaged in the manufacture of a
complicated cake to follow him, so he hurried back alone to the
drawing-room, and found Hildegarde——in her cousin’s arms. She was not
struggling, she did not even move as he entered, while Raimund, not in
the least disconcerted by his presence, passionately kissed her two or
three times. At length she suddenly and vehemently pushed him from her,
exclaiming, “Go, I hate you!”
“You hate me! hate me, did you say? Let me hear that once more,
Hildegarde,” he said, losing every trace of colour as he spoke.
“No, no—I don’t hate you—but you have acted very—very ungenerously,”
said Hildegarde, with ill-suppressed emotion.
“I understand you; but you will forgive me this last offence, I hope?”
“Yes, I forgive you, and will try to forgive you all you have done to
worry and alarm me since our acquaintance began,” said Hildegarde,
bitterly, “but this must indeed be the last offence.”
“It will be, most certainly,” said Raimund; and, taking both her hands,
he looked at her long and earnestly, and then left the room without in
any manner noticing Hamilton.
A long pause ensued. Hamilton’s eyes were riveted on his book, which he
had again taken up; but he never turned over the leaf, nor did he move
when he became conscious that Hildegarde was standing beside him.
“That was the fulfilment of the promise made at the ball on Saturday,”
she at length said, in a very low voice. “I knew that his mind was in a
state of unusual irritation, and his claiming a dance which I had not
promised him proved his wish to quarrel with you. My fears alone made me
consent.”
Hamilton turned round. A light seemed suddenly to break upon him; and
Hildegarde’s motives for many inexplicable actions became at once
apparent. His first impulse was to tell her so, and to assure her of his
increased admiration and affection; but he recollected, just at the
right moment, that all such explanations from him were a waste of words
and time; that he had told her so more than once himself. So, after a
short but violent internal struggle, he said, with forced serenity, “My
reliance on you will henceforth be unbounded.”
She seemed perfectly satisfied with this answer. Notwithstanding its
_laconicism_, she fully understood the extent of confidence which would
in future be placed in her, and she left the room with a light heart.
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