THE DIFFICULTY REMOVED.
IT was late in the evening, and Hamilton had not yet returned. Madame
Rosenberg began to get a little uneasy, and very impatient, when
fortunately Madame Berger arrived to complain bitterly of her husband,
who had declined receiving Mr. Hamilton as an inmate of his house on any
terms. “He says I am too young—and he is too often absent—and people
might talk! Did you ever hear anything so absurd?”
“I believe he is right,” said Madame Rosenberg, “you are too young——”
“I wonder it never occurred to you that your step-daughters were still
younger!” cried Madame Berger, glancing towards Hildegarde, who was
sitting at the window looking into the street.
“The case is quite different,” said Madame Rosenberg; “we are a large
family, and where the father and mother are in a house——”
“Pshaw!” cried Madame Berger, impatiently; “Cressy liked him, for all
that, better than she will ever like her husband, I suspect!”
“Who told you that?” cried Madame Rosenberg, with a look of amazement.
“My own eyes,” replied Madame Berger, with a slight laugh; “and not
Hildegarde,” she added, in answer to a look of suspicion which Madame
Rosenberg had cast on her step-daughter. “Believe me, neither the
presence of father nor mother can prevent these things.”
“Crescenz is most happily married,” began Madame Rosenberg.
“So am I—but I preferred Theodor Biedermann to the Doctor, as you well
know. You need not look so astonished at hearing me speak the truth,
Hildegarde. I vow one would almost imagine you heard this for the first
time! As if Cressy had not betrayed me long ago, not to mention
Mademoiselle Hortense, who of course used me as a scarecrow for the
whole school! Excepting, perhaps, the dear, good old Doctor,” she
continued, “there is not one of my acquaintances who does not know that
I nearly cried my eyes out about Theodor.”
“And is it possible you have not told Dr. Berger?” cried Hildegarde,
turning quickly round. “Did you not feel bound in honour——”
“No, mademoiselle,” replied Madame Berger, sharply; “I did not feel
myself bound in honour deliberately to destroy my domestic peace—I leave
it to you to make such a confession when you are going to be married, if
you think it necessary!”
“I am afraid Hildegarde is not likely to be married at all, now that we
are going to live at the Iron Works,” sighed Madame Rosenberg. “The only
neighbour we have is the _Förster_, and he——”
“Lord bless you!” cried Madame Berger, “Hildegarde would never look at a
_Förster_ if he were not by chance a count or baron. Had Mr. Hamilton
only been a _Milor_, she would never have thought of quarrelling with
him, I can tell you!”
“Caroline!—madame!” exclaimed Hildegarde, with a vehemence that made
Madame Berger retreat a few steps from the window, while she cried, with
affected fear, “Good heavens! I had no idea you could get into a passion
about _him_! And here he is,” she added, springing again to the window
as she heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs on the pavement; “here he is,
and I suspect there are few _Milors_ to be compared to him; he certainly
is the handsomest creature I ever saw! An ideal of an Englishman! _Un
amour!_”
“Lina!” said Madame Rosenberg, reproachfully, “you must forgive my
observing that this language is not proper for a young married woman.”
“Ah, bah! as if I were serious! Have you forgotten that you used to say
I always spoke without thinking? Now, Hildegarde there thinks without
speaking, perhaps!”
“Not of Mr. Hamilton!” said Madame Rosenberg, “for she did not even look
out of the window at your _amour_, or whatever you call him. Hildegarde,
go and tell him we have waited nearly two hours for him, that supper is
ready, and that I beg he will come just as he is, and not make an
evening toilet for once in a way.”
She had not time to deliver her message, for Hamilton entered the room
with unusual precipitation, and handed Madame Rosenberg an enormous,
ill-folded, long-wafered letter.
“From my father!” she exclaimed, with surprise.
“Yes; he has no sort of objection to my accompanying you to the Iron
Works; he says you may take me instead of Fritz.”
“A good idea,” cried Madame Berger, as she came from behind the
window-curtain; “it is, however, Mr. Hamilton’s, and not your father’s.”
“It is in the letter, however,” said Madame Rosenberg, eagerly perusing
the inelegant specimen of penmanship; “but I do not see anything about
Hans or the horses.”
“Oh, I said nothing about them, they can go to the inn.”
“But we have a stable——” began Madame Rosenberg.
“I know you have, and a pair of stout greys in it. Your father has
promised me a lift into Munich every Saturday, when he sends in his
iron.”
“On the cart?” asked Madame Berger.
“Yes,” said Hamilton, “there are places for two on the seat in front.
The offer was very civil, considering the shortness of our
acquaintance.”
“It is a proof, at all events, that he has taken a great fancy to you,”
said Madame Rosenberg, with an air of great satisfaction; “and as you
wish to go with the children, Hildegarde must arrange your room for you.
Do you hear, Hildegarde?”
“Yes, mamma.”
“I must give you a green curtain to hang up before the alcove where the
bedstead is to be put, and it will be nearly as good as two rooms. You
must make new muslin curtains for the windows as soon as possible.”
“Your grandfather made most particular inquiries about you,” observed
Hamilton, turning to Hildegarde.
“He is not my grandfather; he is no relation whatever of mine,” she
answered in French, while her colour heightened rapidly, and seemed to
be reflected in Hamilton’s face, which became crimson.
“I don’t understand French,” said Madame Rosenberg, looking at them
alternately; “but I think I can guess; however, it is no matter—read
this letter, Hildegarde; in it you will find everything, and more than
you could have heard from Mr. Hamilton. My father is willing to act
towards you as a relation; do not, by an ill-timed exhibition of pride,
turn his kindly feelings towards you into dislike.”
She received the letter and the not undeserved rebuke in silence; while
Hamilton, to divert Madame Berger’s attention, began a description of
his meeting with Mr. Eisenmann, of their discourse, and supper.
“It must have been delicious, the whole scene,” cried Madame Berger; “I
shall pay you a visit at the Iron Works the very first day the Doctor
can let me have the horses.”
“Pray bring the Doctor with you when you come,” said Madame Rosenberg,
unconsciously glancing towards Hamilton.
Madame Berger saw the glance, observed that Hamilton laughed, and
immediately inquired the cause. Madame Rosenberg refused to tell her,
and she appealed to Hamilton, who immediately, with the most perfect
composure, and without the slightest reserve, repeated all the part of
their morning conversation which related to her. She seemed to enjoy the
recital and Madame Rosenberg’s face of horror equally. “One thing is
certain,” she said, when he had ended, “had you been so many months in
the same house with me, as you have been with Hildegarde, we should
have——”
“You seem altogether to forget the Doctor,” said Madame Rosenberg,
interrupting her, almost angrily.
“To tell the truth, I sometimes do forget that I am married; but Mr.
Hamilton understands _badinage_ perfectly, so you need not look so
shocked at my _bavardage_.”
“I wish you would speak German,” said Madame Rosenberg, fidgeting on her
chair; “you use so many French words, that I cannot understand the half
of what you say.”
“I believe I had better go home,” cried Madame Berger, good-humouredly.
“Allow me to hope you will be civiler to me when I visit you in the
country! _Bon soir._”
“Good-night,” said Madame Rosenberg, dryly, without making the slightest
effort to detain her.
---------------------