“Dreadful temper!” said Madame Berger, shrugging her shoulders; “if she were my sister, I should soon teach her to pay me proper respect; but look here, Crescenz, the officer has bowed to the first floor, and is now crossing the street, as if he were coming into the house; I begin to think Hildegarde was right.”
“I am sure she was right, and I ought not to have looked out of the window—I will go at once and tell her so.”
“Before you go, let me give you a piece of advice. You have spoiled your sister, and taught her to make a slave of you—don’t give your husband such bad habits. Above all things—never confess that you have been in the wrong, and make him on all occasions beg your pardon.”
“But when I feel that I have done wrong, I ought at least to confess it.”
“No such thing; you must always insist on being right—yield once, and you must yield ever after. I have had some desperate battles I assure you, but the Doctor has been obliged to give way, and we now get on charmingly together. Whenever I have been giddy or extravagant, he must beg my pardon, ha, ha, ha!”
“But, Lina, how can that be? for the Doctor is a very sensible man, and were he to act as you say, he must be a fool!”
“You do not understand me, child. You see, when I do anything he disapproves, he remonstrates or lectures, and then I sulk until he begs my pardon for having remonstrated or lectured. My offence in the meantime is forgotten. Do you understand?”
“Partly,” said Crescenz, thoughtfully.
“Do not listen to such advice, mademoiselle,” said Mr. Biedermann. “I am sure Madame Berger is joking.”
“I am not joking,” said Madame Berger, tossing back her head.