“And what may that be?”
“If my lips may not explain otherwise than by words, they decline the office.”
Hildegarde bent her face over her book, shaded her eyes, and remained silent.
“Go on,” said Hamilton; “now that you have given me leave to laugh I have lost all inclination.”
Hildegarde continued to read, looking up, however, at the end of every sentence, and asking for the necessary corrections.
When Major Stultz stood up to take leave, he put an end to the first of the English lessons, which were, however, continued with unfailing regularity every day from that time forward. A young medical student, recommended alike for his talent and poverty, was engaged to give German lessons, and the drawing-room being found too subject to interruptions, Hamilton’s sitting-room was converted into a study. The youthful preceptor seemed to enjoy his pupil’s society, and often remained long to discuss literary and philosophical subjects with Hamilton, and not unfrequently to smoke a cigar, Hildegarde having had the complaisance to profess to like the smell of tobacco when it was good.
CHAPTER XIV.
A NEW WAY TO LEARN GERMAN.
One day Madame Berger proposed spending the afternoon with the Rosenbergs, as her husband was to be absent until late in the evening: the offer was of course accepted, and she was received by Crescenz with delight and conducted to her room. After removing her bonnet and carefully arranging her hair and dress, Madame Berger repaired to the drawing-room, seemed exceedingly surprised to find it unoccupied, and having opened the door of the adjoining bedroom and finding it equally deserted, she tapped Crescenz playfully on the arm, exclaiming, “Well, my dear child, what have you done with your Englishman?”
“Nothing,” replied Crescenz despondingly. “I begin to think you were right, Lina; he certainly admires Hildegarde, and she now scarcely ever quarrels with him, and has even begun to ask his opinion on different subjects. They do nothing but read English and German together, and talk of their books until it is quite tiresome. Yesterday evening, when they were both discussing Faust and Mephistopheles, which I remember papa once said few people could altogether understand, I could not help reminding them of Schiller’s Ballad of the Glove, about which they had once quarrelled so desperately; and can you believe it? they both began to laugh; but I saw that Hildegarde grew red, and I am sure she found it difficult not to fight the battle over again!”