“Truths!” exclaimed Crescenz.
“Yes, truths,” repeated Hamilton. “You are very pretty, and very good-natured, but you certainly are a—a coquette—what we call in England a flirt.”
“Well, how odd!” exclaimed Crescenz. “Do you know—I don’t at all mind your telling me that—and I was so very angry with him! I declare now I should like to hear all my faults!”
“I dare say Major Stultz will enumerate them, if you desire it,” said Hamilton, now determinedly joining Madame Rosenberg, and remaining beside her the rest of the way home.
CHAPTER XVII.
LOVERS’ QUARRELS.
The moon was shining brightly on their house, as they lingered in the street to speak a few parting words. Mademoiselle de Hoffmann sat at an open window, and gazed pensively upwards.
“Should you not like to know the thoughts of your betrothed at this moment?” asked Mr. Rosenberg, turning to Raimund.
“Not at all,” he replied, carelessly glancing towards the house, “I am sure they are commonplace, for a more matter-of-fact person does not exist than Marie de Hoffmann.”
“So,” cried Zedwitz, “it is really true that you are going to be married! I am glad to hear it, and congratulate you with all my heart.”