ANOTHER KIND OF DISCOURSE.
TWENTY-FOUR hours afterwards, Hamilton was in Munich on his way to Major
Stultz’s. He had not yet taken leave of Crescenz, and hoped, when
ostensibly doing so, to obtain from her some information about her
sister’s plans and prospects. His old acquaintance, Walburg, was
delighted to see him, informed him that “her mistress was at home, quite
alone—the Major had gone to sup with some officers who had been in
Russia with him;” and while speaking, she threw open the drawing-room
door. Crescenz turned round, and then, with a blush of pleasure, rose
quickly and advanced towards Hamilton, exclaiming, “I knew you would not
leave Bavaria without coming to see me! I said so to Blazius, and to
Hildegarde too!”
“So you have spent another day at the Iron Works, and can tell me how
they all are.”
“No,” replied Crescenz; and the smile faded from her features as she
added, “Hildegarde was here, on her way to Frankfort.”
“So she is gone—actually gone!” cried Hamilton.
“She left us the day before yesterday. Blazius says he is glad our
parting is over, for I could do nothing but cry all the time she was
here.”
“And Hildegarde?” asked Hamilton.
“She appeared quite contented with her future prospects, and tried to
make me so too.”
“Quite contented,” repeated Hamilton.
“Yes; Blazius says she has not much feeling, and that I am a fool to
waste so much affection on her; but he does not know how kind she was to
me for so many years at school, helping me out of all my difficulties,
and taking my part on all occasions—he has no idea what Hildegarde can
do to those she loves!”
“Nor I either,” said Hamilton.
“Of course not,” said Crescenz, smiling, “as she only latterly began to
like you; but for ten years she was everything to me! After we left
school, indeed, or rather from the time we were at Seon, she changed a
good deal, certainly. You know the time that——”
“I know,” said Hamilton.
“But when she was here last week, she was just what she used to be; I
could have fancied we had gone back two or three years of our lives.”
“So she was quite cheerful!” said Hamilton, with a constrained smile.
“It seems she felt no regret at quitting the Iron Works?”
“Not much, I should think, when you were no longer there,” answered
Crescenz.
“What! What do you mean?” asked Hamilton, eagerly.
“Why, as you were the only person who could talk to her—she must have
found it very dull after you were gone, I suppose.”
“Oh!” said Hamilton, “is that all? Perhaps she did not say as much—did
not speak of me at all?”
“Oh yes; we often spoke of you,” said Crescenz, nodding her head.
“I flattered myself, at one time, that Hildegarde liked me——” began
Hamilton.
“She does like you—she said so repeatedly, and quite agreed with me in
everything about you, but she does not like you as Blazius thought she
would when you first went to the Iron Works. He said then it was very
inconsiderate of mamma to take you there—that she ought to have insisted
on your leaving the house when papa died!”
“She did propose my leaving,” said Hamilton.
“Yes, I know—that was after Blazius had spoken to her—and he was so
angry, when he heard you were going to the country, after all! He
said—he said——”
“What?” asked Hamilton.
“That with such opportunities, he should not be at all surprised if you
and Hildegarde went to—the—devil! He sometimes does use such very
improper words!”
Hamilton could not help smiling.
“You think I am joking,” she continued, “but I assure you, he said such
dreadful things, that I cannot repeat them—and I was so glad, when I
went to the Iron Works, to perceive that Hildegarde did not like you—in
that way——”
“In what way?” asked Hamilton, irresistibly impelled to talk to her as
he had in former times. She blushed so deeply, however, and became so
painfully confused, that he added gravely, “You mean that you saw she
only liked me as an acquaintance, or friend, and I believe you are
right.”
“Yes, that is exactly what I meant,” said Crescenz, apparently greatly
relieved, “for that last day, when you seemed to like Lina Berger more
than you had ever done either of us, she did not in the least mind
it—quite laughed at the idea!”
“Did she?” said Hamilton, with a look of annoyance, which Crescenz alone
could have failed to observe.
“Hildegarde never will tell me anything!” she continued, “but I have
made a discovery all the same!”
“Have you?” cried Hamilton, with a look of interest, which her
observations were seldom calculated to produce. “What is it?”
“I have found out, at last, who it is that she really loves.”
“Indeed! Are you quite sure?”
“You shall hear how I found out. Lina Berger came here, not to take
leave of Hildegarde, for you know they dislike each other—but because
she wished to hear something about you. Now, Hildegarde answered all her
questions with the greatest composure, and when Lina found that she
could not embarrass or annoy her about you, she suddenly turned the
conversation and spoke of Count Zedwitz. The moment she pronounced his
name Hildegarde’s whole countenance changed, and then Lina went on, and
told her that the old Count was dying, that Doctor Berger had been
several times to see him, and said he could not live more than a week or
ten days, and that, as his son had been written for, and was probably on
his way home, she now seriously advised Hildegarde not to leave Munich,
or at least Bavaria until all chance was over of his renewing his
proposal of marriage to her—that is, if she had still the slightest hope
that such an unheard of good fortune was in store for her—above all
things she ought to avoid going to Frankfort, as, notwithstanding all
Count Zedwitz’s professions of liberality, the idea of her having been a
governess _might_ be revolting to him!”
“Poor, dear Hildegarde!” cried Hamilton, compassionately. “Was she very
angry?”
“She became so pale and agitated that I expected some terrible scene,
such as we used to have at school; but to my great surprise, she thanked
Lina for her good advice, though she did not mean to follow it; said she
considered being a governess no sort of disgrace—rather the contrary, as
it led to the supposition at least, that her acquirements were more than
common, and that what Count Zedwitz might think on the subject was at
present a matter of indifference to her—and then she went out of the
room, and did not return until Lina was gone.”
“But, surely, you do not infer from this that she loves Zedwitz!” cried
Hamilton, cheerfully. “It seems to me as if the contrary conclusion
might be drawn.”
“You have not heard all,” said Crescenz. “After Lina was gone, though I
knew she had only been trying to vex Hildegarde, I thought the advice
might be good, as Blazius had said several times that it would be such
an excellent thing if that cross old Count would die at once, and leave
his son at liberty to marry Hildegarde. It is very wrong to wish anybody
to die, but Blazius does not mind saying things of that kind—I don’t
think he means all he says though, about the devil, or people being
damned—it would be very terrible if he did—and I am sure he learned all
those odious expressions in that frightful Russian campaign——”
“Well, a—and so—” said Hamilton, “when Hildegarde again came into the
room, you probably recommended her remaining here?”
“Yes—but you know, I never could expect Hildegarde to follow my advice!
and when she refused, I only just ventured, in a whisper, to ask her if
she thought that Count Zedwitz still loved her—and she said, ‘Yes,
better than any one ever loved, or will love me—better than I deserve,’
and then she went to the window and pretended to look out, but I saw
that she was crying. I am quite sure she has made up her mind to marry
him, but I don’t understand why she is so unhappy about it, especially
as he is a count, and Hildegarde is so fond of rank!”
“Is she?” said Hamilton, absently.
“Oh yes, rank, riches, station, and somebody to love her exclusively—and
Count Zedwitz can give her all these things, you know!”
“Very true—your arguments are conclusive,” said Hamilton, “and now it is
time for me to go——”
“But you will come again!” said Crescenz; “you will come to take leave
of Blazius?”
Hamilton shook his head.
“Are you really going away forever?” asked Crescenz, and her eyes filled
with tears as she added, in a slightly tremulous voice, “Hildegarde said
we should never hear of, never see you again!”
“And she said it, I am sure, with less regret than you do!” exclaimed
Hamilton, bitterly.
“I dare say you think me very foolish,” said Crescenz, trying to smile,
while large tears coursed each other down her cheeks.
“I think you very kind,” said Hamilton.
“If Blazius were at home, you would have stayed a little longer,
perhaps. I wish Blazius were here.”
Hamilton thought it was quite as well he was not, but did not say so;
and after taking leave of her, much more affectionately than he had
dared to do of her sister, he left the house considerably more
thoughtful than he had entered it.
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