“Shall I put in all that is in this paper?”
Hamilton nodded, and the tea was made.
“Ought it not to boil a little now?”
“By no means.”
“Perhaps,” said Walburg, “a little piece of vanilla would improve the taste.”
“On no account,” said Hamilton.
“The best thing to give it a flavour is rum,” observed Madame Berger.
“I forbid the rum, though I must say the idea is not bad,” said Hamilton laughing.
Hildegarde put the teapot on a little tray, and left the kitchen just as her step-mother entered it.
“Well, the tea ought to be good! It has required long enough to make it, I am sure!” she observed, while setting down a lamp, which she had brought with her. “Crescenz, your father, it seems, has invited a whole lot of people without telling me, and he wishes to play a rubber of whist in the bedroom. I have no more handsome candlesticks, so you must light the lamp; the wick is in it, I know, for I cleaned it myself before I went to Seon, so you have only to put in the oil and light it.” She took Madame Berger’s arm, saying, “This is poor amusement for you, standing in the kitchen all the evening,” and walked away without perceiving Hamilton, who was examining the construction of the hearth and chimney with an interest which greatly astonished the cook.