“I could have told you that myself,” cried Hamilton, laughing; “the smell is too odious to admit of a doubt.”
“But the taste is very good,” said Crescenz.
“I cannot agree with you; taste and smell are horrible in the extreme.”
“I never heard of anyone who did not like sauer-kraut,” said Crescenz, with some surprise; “do people never make it in England?”
“I never saw it, excepting at the house of a friend who had been long ambassador at one of the German courts, and then it was handed about as a sort of curiosity.”
“How odd! England seems to be altogether different from Germany?” she half asked, while shaking her head inquiringly.
“The difference is in many things besides the eating or not eating of sauer-kraut,” answered Hamilton; “but as you are such a famous cook, I must beg you to give me something else to-day, for I cannot eat your kraut.”
“Oh, yes!” cried Crescenz delightedly; “Wally, what shall we cook for Mr. Hamilton? I am sure I never thought I should have liked this cooking so much!” As she spoke, she with difficulty repressed an inclination to dance about the kitchen.
“Indeed, as you are learning it, Miss Crescenz,” said Walburg, “it must be very agreeable. To think that you will so soon have a house of your own, and a rich husband who will let you have everything you like to cook. Tarts and creams every day. The Major knows what’s good, or I am greatly mistaken.”
This speech completely sobered Crescenz; had Hamilton not been present she might have been loquacious; but she now looked confused, and turned to leave the kitchen, saying it was time to wash her hands for dinner.