“But, my dear Major, I really must beg of you not to mention the Englishman to her. It will only put an idea into her head which I am convinced has never entered it. You forget what a mere child she is—not yet sixteen!”
Major Stultz turned round suddenly to look at his betrothed; the moment was unpropitious for removing jealous doubts. She was walking alone with Hamilton, and speaking with an earnestness totally foreign to her character, while the expression of her upturned eyes denoted anything but childishness.
“This will never do!” exclaimed Major Stultz, angrily.
“You wrong her most assuredly,” cried Madame Rosenberg, with a sort of blind reliance on Crescenz’s childishness, which this time, however, did not deceive her: “You wrong her, and I will prove it by asking her what she is talking about. Crescenz, my love, we wish to know the subject of your discourse—it seems to be interesting.”
Crescenz answered without hesitation, “I am defending Hildegarde; Mr. Hamilton and she have quarrelled about the Ballad of the Glove. He says she was rude; and I think he was rude; for he said if he had been a knight he would not have chosen her for his lady-love. I do not think of being angry, and he did not choose me either,” she added, glancing half reproachfully.
On another occasion Madame Rosenberg would have inquired further, and given, perhaps, an edifying lecture on politeness and propriety of language; she was now too well satisfied with Crescenz’s answer to think of anything of the kind, and turning triumphantly to Major Stultz, she whispered, “You see I was right. I cannot answer for Hildegarde. Rosenberg says I do not understand her; but Crescenz is a good girl—almost too good and docile. You can make whatever you please of her.”
They all walked together to the inn, and The Glove seemed to be quite forgotten.
CHAPTER X.
THE RETURN TO MUNICH.
Hamilton’s journey to Munich proved more agreeable than the commencement had promised. Hildegarde, the maid, Peppy, and Fritz were his companions; the others occupied the second carriage and chose to be together, as Fritz sapiently observed, in order to talk secrets about Cressy’s wedding. Hildegarde exhibited her dislike to Hamilton so artlessly that he could scarcely preserve a serious countenance, while he endeavoured to overcome it. The averted head, short, careless answers, and pertinacious discourse with brother Fritz, could not, however, long resist his efforts. He was possessed of no inconsiderable advantages, both of mind and manner, and of this he was, perhaps, but too well aware, sometimes unnecessarily under-valuing the intellect of others, while he indulged in a vein of satire most displeasing when it became evident. Hildegarde had noticed this in his intercourse with her sister, and was at first extremely guarded in her answers; but his manner was so unconstrained, his account of himself and his ideas so amusing and simple, that at length she also became communicative, and unconsciously displayed an extent of intellect for which Hamilton had not been prepared—her acquirements were considerable for a girl of her age, and she spoke with enthusiasm of the continuance of her studies when she returned to Munich. Her father had quite an excellent library of his own, which he had promised to let her use, and her mother intended to subscribe to a circulating library, on condition that none but French books should be sent for or read. On Hamilton’s inquiring further, she said, with a slight blush, that she was extremely fond of novels and poetry.