“You will tell him no such thing,” cried Madame Rosenberg, turning back, in order to try the effect of her eloquence on Major Stultz. She was a clumsy maneuvrer—but she generally gained her point, for she always meant well, and at times spoke with much worldly wisdom. On the present occasion, she took her future son-in-law’s arm, and walked quickly on with him, leaving Hamilton, to his great annoyance, with Crescenz. He would willingly have joined the others, but there were too many to walk abreast, and neither Zedwitz nor Raimund seemed disposed to resign their places.
They walked together in silence for some time, Crescenz with an air of triumphant satisfaction, Hamilton with ill-concealed impatience.
“I hope,” she began at last, “I hope that I have seriously offended Major Stultz this evening: nothing would give me greater pleasure than the breaking off of this odious engagement.”
“It would have been more honourable had you done so before you left Seon.”
“Better late than never,” said Crescenz, gayly.
“To act dishonourably, do you mean?” asked Hamilton, gravely.
“Ah, bah!” cried Crescenz, with imperturbable good-humour. “You are talking exactly like Hildegarde, now.”
“You are not acting as Hildegarde would,” said Hamilton, still more seriously.
“Don’t praise her too much, you are out of favour with her just now, I can tell you.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hamilton, quickly.