“I have no doubt of it,” said Hamilton, “but the fact is, I am so accustomed to your daughter Hildegarde’s preparing it for me, that I do not know the quantity of cream and sugar necessary—by-the-by, I hope her headache is better this morning?”
“She said so,” replied Madame Rosenberg, “but I found her so feverish, and looking so wretchedly ill, that I have forbidden her getting up until Doctor Berger sees her.”
“You do not apprehend any serious illness, I hope?”
“Oh, no—but Crescenz tells me that she slept very uneasily—had frightful dreams, and at one time during the night fancied someone intended to stab her! Such an idea! I suppose,” she added, after a pause, “you expect Count Zedwitz to call for you?”
“I believe so,” said Hamilton, absently.
“I am beginning rather to like him,” observed Madame Rosenberg.
Hamilton did not appear to hear her.
“You are going to a gay house,” she added, “at least it will be gay on such an occasion.”
“What occasion?” asked Hamilton, looking up.
“Why, did you not tell me that the only daughter was going to be married? And is not a wedding a very gay thing?”