CHAPTER XXIX.
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.