“Be it so,” said Hildegarde, with some emotion. “No one loves me but—but—my father.”
“I love you, Hildegarde,” whispered Crescenz, gently taking her sister’s hand, and, at the same time, looking timidly towards her step-mother, “I love you too.”
“I shall soon see your affection decline; it cannot be otherwise,” said Hildegarde, bending over her work to conceal the large tears which stood in her eyes, ready to fall when she could permit them to do so unperceived.
Madame Rosenberg was not a person of much observation, although possessed of a good deal of common sense. She heard the words, and answered to them. “Of course, when Crescenz marries, you cannot expect any longer to be her first object; Major Stultz will, and ought to take your place in her affections—it is the way of the world—the law of nature!”
Hildegarde’s work dropped from her hands. Hamilton, who was sitting beside her, picked it up; and as she stooped to take it from him, the tears which he had been watching in stolen glances, now, to his infinite dismay, fell slowly on his hand. He started, as if they had hurt him; and then, under pretence of seeking a book, left the room, hoping to find the discussion at an end on his return. He was mistaken; on again opening the door, Madame Rosenberg was speaking with even more than usual volubility. “The fact is, Hildegarde, you cannot pardon my being a smith’s daughter; although I was a much better match for your father than his first wife, with all her fine relations! What’s the use of being a countess when one is penniless? Your mother had not even a respectable trousseau—there is scarcely anything remaining to be given to Crescenz; and you know yourself, your relations have been so unkind that your father never intends to allow you to visit them; and I am quite sure were you to meet them in the street they would look away to avoid bowing to you. Take my advice, Hildegarde, forget that your mother was a Countess Raimund, remember that your father is plain Franz Rosenberg; and though your mother is a smith’s daughter, you ought not to forget that many of the comforts of your home come from her, and the produce of the much despised iron works. Cease to fancy yourself a martyr to a cruel step mother; I might be a great deal worse than I am; if you find me sometimes a little strict, it is only for your good, and necessary, too, at your age! As to your refusal of the Major, I shall never mention it again—he has not gone out of the family, you know; if he had not proposed to Crescenz, I could not have got over the loss or forgiven you so easily. You must endeavour to correct your irritability of temper, and I am sure in time everyone will like you; even Mr. Hamilton will overcome his dislike to you.”
Hildegarde’s varying colour showed how much she suffered during this speech; and Hamilton was again on the point of leaving the room, when Madame Rosenberg called out: “You need not run away again, we have talked the matter out, and intend to be good friends in future, eh, Hildegarde? Come here and give me a kiss to prove that you bear no malice.”
Hildegarde put aside her work, approached her step-mother, and received her hearty kiss with an evident effort at cordiality.
“May I hope to be included in this reconciliation?” asked Hamilton, holding out his hand, with a smile.
Hildegarde pretended not to understand him; and again took her place at the table.
“Hildegarde,” said her step-mother, “you may give your hand to Mr. Hamilton—he is an Englishman, and will put no wrong construction on the action. Captain Smith told me that shaking hands is a common English custom, and means nothing more than kissing a lady’s hand here.”