“At least drink this beef-tea before you go,” said Hildegarde, approaching him.
“How on earth can you expect Mr. Hamilton to swallow such slop as this!” cried Madame Berger, raising the cover as she spoke.
Hildegarde angrily pushed away her hand.
“The carriage is at the door,” said Hans.
“Come,” cried Madame Berger, laughing, “you have no time to drink this hot water at present, and if you do not make haste I must decline going with you to admire your skating, for it will be too late for me. Have you courage?” she asked, giving Hamilton a look of intelligence.
Hildegarde had perceived that he wished to avoid drinking the beef-tea. She had placed it on the table, and was now standing near the stove apparently tranquil, but a slight contraction of her brows, and the extraordinary brilliancy of her eyes as she followed the motions of each speaker betrayed the anger with which she was struggling.
“I perceive you are annoyed,” said Zedwitz, when about to leave the room; “but,” he added, quickly, while the colour mounted to his temples, “you need not be uneasy about your patient; I will bring him back as soon as possible.”
“You are mistaken as to the cause of my annoyance,” said Hildegarde, with a forced smile; “I am angry with myself for having been such a fool as to prepare that soup.”
“You must excuse Hamilton this time. Madame Berger is such an impertinent little person!” said Zedwitz, as he closed the door.
In the meantime Hamilton had nearly descended the stairs. “I can tell you,” said Madame Berger, “that Hildegarde is in a towering passion. Did you not see her eyes flashing, and her lips grow blue? I should not wonder if at this moment she were literally dancing in your room!”