“Letters from Preissnitz! I have no letter except that which I received the day before yesterday from Count Zedwitz.”
“You wish, perhaps, to speak to papa before you decide on going to Graefenberg?”
“I—I have no intention whatever of going there, mademoiselle,” said Hamilton, who did not exactly know who Preissnitz was, or where Graefenberg might be situated; for ten years ago, Preissnitz’s name was little known in Germany, and scarcely at all in England.
“Well, at all events, you had better speak to papa: I know he expects to see you.”
“If that be the case,” said Hamilton, “I am sure I shall be very happy to make his acquaintance—I only feared the letter might have been intended for my father, as he has foreign acquaintances, and I have as yet none.”
“It is quite the same thing, I should think,” said the young Countess, as she led the way out of the garden. “You can let your father know that you have seen us here. Papa was only sorry that he could not receive you at home; but our house is not at present habitable, and——”
“Ah!” cried Hamilton, springing up the stairs after her, “that is exactly what he said in his letter.”
“Wait here until I have told him that you have arrived,” she said, tapping gently at one of the doors, which closed upon her immediately afterwards.
She did not return, but a tall, gaunt servant appeared to conduct him to Count Zedwitz’s apartment. On entering, he perceived that a figure lay on a bed, but so wrapped in blankets and covered with down beds, that nothing was visible but the face, down which the perspiration rolled copiously. A reading-desk was placed on the breast, and a long quill, tightly pressed between the teeth, served to turn over the leaves of his book. Hamilton would have required some time to discover the use of the quill, had it not been performing its office as he entered.
“I am rejoice to see you—very glad you have become my letter, and seem to profit by it. You are good on the feet again?”