CHAPTER XXXV.
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.