“She is capable of anything. Had you but seen the look of intelligence that passed between them when she left the room to inquire about you, and the lamp, it would have convinced you at once. And then he watched the door, and——”
“Ah, yes!” exclaimed Crescenz, apparently greatly relieved; “I understand. No, Lina, this time I am right, and you are wrong, I know why he looked at Hildegarde, and at the door.”
“You do!—do you? Then, come and tell me all about it. By-the-by, I should like to have a long talk with you, to learn how matters stand. This Mr. Hamilton is uncommonly good-looking and amusing; I should like to know what brought him to Seon, and how it happened that he came to live with your mother, and all that. If we have not time to-night, you can tell me to-morrow, while you are learning the purse-stitch.”
An appointment was made for the next day, and the party soon after broke up.
CHAPTER XII.
DOMESTIC DETAILS.
Hamilton had gone out early to visit Zedwitz, and look at a horse recommended by Major Stultz. On his return, when walking towards his room, he heard some one singing so gayly in the kitchen that, as he passed the door, he could not resist the temptation to look in. Crescenz was standing opposite the hearth, a long-handled wooden spoon in her hand, her sleeves tucked up, and her round, white arms embellished with streaks of smut and flour; while a linen apron, of large dimensions, preserved the greater part of her dress from injury. Her face was flushed, partly from heat, but more from pleasure. As soon as she perceived Hamilton in the doorway, she at once ceased singing, laughed merrily, and invited him to enter. Now to this kitchen Hamilton had taken rather a fancy; he thought it by many degrees the best furnished room in the house; in fact, it was a pretty and cheerful apartment, and kept with a neatness common in Germany, where it is usual to see the female members of the burghers’ families employed in culinary offices.
“I have got my first lesson in cookery to-day,” she exclaimed joyfully; “and I have assisted mamma to make a tart, and you see I am cooking these vegetables,” she added, plunging her wooden spoon into one of the pots.
“Oh, yes, miss,” cried the cook, “that’s the soup, and the noodles will be all squashed if you work them up after that fashion.”
“Well, this is the sauer-kraut,” she said, eagerly drawing one of the saucepans towards her; “this is the sauer-kraut.”