“Indeed?”
“At school she took a fancy to one of the governesses, the most severe, disagreeable person imaginable; can you believe it? This Mademoiselle Hortense was able to do whatever she pleased with her; her slightest word was a command to Hildegarde. I have seen her, when in the greatest passion, grow pale and become perfectly quiet when Mademoiselle Hortense suddenly came into the room. It was, however, not from fear, for Hildegarde has no idea of fearing anybody; she is terribly courageous!”
“Altogether rather an interesting character,” observed Hamilton.
“Do you think so? I cannot agree with you. At school we all liked Crescenz much better.”
“Very possibly—I can imagine your liking the one and admiring the other.”
“As to the admiration,” said Madame Berger, looking down—“as to the admiration of the girls at school, that was very much divided: Hildegarde headed one party and I the other.”
“You were rivals, then?”
“We were, in everything—even in the affection of her sister. It was through Crescenz alone that I was able to tease her when I chose to do so.”
“But you did not often choose it, I am sure.”
“Oh, I assure you, with all her love for Crescenz, she often tyrannised over the poor girl, and scarcely allowed her to have an opinion of her own on any subject. Crescenz was a little afraid of her, too, at times. Cressy is the dearest creature in the world, but not at all brilliant; we all loved her, but we sometimes laughed at her, too; and you can form no conception of the fury of Hildegarde when she used to find it out. Crescenz has confessed to me, when we were alone, that her sister had often lectured her on her simplicity, and had told her what she was to do and say when we attempted to joke with her. Nothing more comical than seeing Crescenz playing Hildegarde.”