A pause ensued. Major Stultz did not seem disposed to discuss reflected lights; the picture had evidently had no value for him excepting as a good representation of a glass of bock; and his attention was now directed towards Hildegarde, whose flushed cheeks and pouting lips rather heightened than detracted from her beauty.
“Perhaps you would like to see the newspapers, madame?” he asked, politely offering the latest arrived to her step-mother.
“Thank you; I never read newspapers, though I join some acquaintances in taking the Eilbote, on condition that it comes to us last of all, and then we can keep the paper for cleaning the looking-glasses and windows.”
“There are, however, sometimes very pretty stories and charades in the Eilbote. Young ladies like such things,” he observed, glancing significantly towards Hildegarde.
“My daughters must read nothing but French, and I have subscribed to a library for them. Their French has occupied more than half their lives at school, and now I intend them to teach the boys.”
“I should have no sort of objection to learn French from such an instructress,” said the Major, gallantly.
“Indeed, I don’t think anyone will ever learn much from her,” said Madame Rosenberg, severely; “but her sister Crescenz is a good girl, and the children are very fond of her.”
“You have two daughters!” exclaimed the Major.
“Step-daughters,” she replied, dryly.
“That I took for granted,” he said, bowing, as if he intended to be very civil. “The young ladies will be of great use to you in the housekeeping.”