It was the first Sunday in October, and Major Stultz had just driven up to the door in a carriage, which he had hired to take his betrothed and her family to the October fête. In order to increase Crescenz’s pleasure, he had promised to take the three boys also, and though Mr. Rosenberg had declared his intention to walk, their party was still uncomfortably large. Fritz in his cadet uniform mounted the box, fully convinced that the equipage had considerably gained in appearance by his presence, and the others were endeavouring to wedge in the children between them, when a servant came running to the door, bearing a message from Madame de Hoffmann, who offered a seat in her carriage to one of the young ladies, if they did not mind going a little later.
“Oh, dear,” cried Madame Rosenberg, “now really that’s very civil—before I have returned her visit, too! Hildegarde, you will accept that offer, of course; and to tell the truth, I am glad you do not leave home so soon; Mr. Hamilton has not returned from church, and I wish you to see that he gets his dinner comfortably served. I know you don’t mind being an hour or so later, and the races don’t begin until three o’clock.”
Hildegarde descended from the carriage, seemingly satisfied with the arrangement, and the others drove off. She stopped on her way upstairs at the first floor, and requested to see the Hoffmanns in order to thank them, and ask when they intended to leave. Mademoiselle de Hoffmann came to meet her, and took her hand eagerly, while she exclaimed: “Ah, I knew you would be the one to go with us. Your sister, of course, could not leave Major Stultz—but surely you will come in and stay here until we are ready to go—in fact we are ready now, and I am only waiting for my bridegroom, who is to accompany us—I do not know if you are aware that I, like your sister, am a bride.”
“I have heard so,” replied Hildegarde. “Mamma intends to offer her congratulations in form to-morrow.”
“I don’t like being congratulated,” said Mademoiselle de Hoffmann abruptly; “it would be better if people waited a year or so, until they knew how a marriage turned out. It is, after all, an awful sort of lottery for a woman, and if she draw a blank——but pray, come into the drawing-room; this is no place to discuss such subjects.”
“I am sorry to say that I have some arrangements to make at home, but I shall return as soon as possible.”
“Pray do,” said Mademoiselle de Hoffmann. “I may as well tell you that I have taken such a fancy to you, that I cannot help hoping that we are destined to be very good friends.”
“I hope so too,” replied Hildegarde with unusual warmth of manner, and laughing gayly. Hamilton passed the door at the moment, on his return from church, and seemed not a little surprised to find her bestowing so much friendliness on a person he had supposed nearly a stranger. Hildegarde followed him up the stairs, and on entering their apartments, took off her bonnet, and prepared to obey her mother’s directions by bringing in his dinner herself. Hamilton had already become accustomed to these attentions, and therefore her appearance—with a napkin pinned on her dress in the form of an apron, and carrying a little tureen of soup—by no means astonished him. Having placed it on the table, she walked to the window, took up a book, and began to read.
“Have you all dined?” asked Hamilton.
“Yes, and all are gone too,” replied Hildegarde.