“And what is your name?” asked Crescenz, turning to Major Stultz.
“My name is Blazius.”
“Blazes!” cried Hamilton. “What an odd name!”
“Not at all odd,” said Major Stultz, “the name is a good one, to be found in all almanacks on the third of February, which is my name’s day. Next year, I expect it to be properly celebrated too—eh, Crescenz?”
Crescenz as usual smiled, but looked embarrassed, and was evidently greatly relieved by the entrance of the roast goose and salad.
They supped, and Mr. Rosenberg and Hamilton had just lit their cigars, and Major Stultz drawn forth a pocket edition of a meerschaum pipe, which he prepared to smoke as an accompaniment to his third tankard of beer, when the sound of a number of gay loud voices, and approaching steps, made Madame Rosenberg hastily open the window which looked into the garden, and stretch her long thin neck to its utmost extent. She seemed half vexed as she drew back again, exclaiming: “Well, to be sure! wherever we go—we are sure to see him. If he were alone, I shouldn’t care a straw; but he will, no doubt, bring all the others with him.”
“Who?” asked Mr. Rosenberg, very quietly continuing to puff at his newly-lighted cigar.
“Count Zedwitz, of course—he is always sure to find out where we are going, and pursues us like a shadow!” replied his wife, glancing half-suspiciously towards Hildegarde, who, however, sprang from her chair with even more than her usual vivacity, while she said to Hamilton: “Can you not assist us to escape? This window is so close to the ground that I think we could easily leap on the road. Pray persuade mamma to walk home with us, and leave papa to follow.”
Hamilton threw open the window, and in a moment was on the ground, holding up his arm towards her; she sprang down lightly without assistance, the two boys followed, but when it came to Crescenz’s turn, she drew back, saying she was afraid.
“Oh, Crescenz! choose some other time and some better occasion for timidity,” cried Hildegarde, impatiently.