“Hildegarde has not finished the travelling-bag,” shouted Gustle, angrily, “and papa says it is just as well, as it was not a civil sort of present.”
At this moment Hildegarde and Crescenz entered the room.
“Turned out! turned out!” cried Fritz and Gustle, unanimously joining in the attack on their sisters.
Hildegarde smiled, Crescenz grew red, and observed that everything was ready; there was nothing more to be done.
“Turned out all the same,” said Fritz, “though you are nearly sixteen, and going to be married. Ha! ha! ha!”
“You are very ill-natured, Fritz, always talking of my going to be married, though you know I dislike its being spoken of.”
“Not you! Didn’t I see you playing grand with Lina Berger when I was at home last Sunday? You both seemed to consider Hildegarde beneath your notice, and she is worth a dozen such as you, and a hundred such as Lina Berger.”
“I was learning to make a new kind of purse.”
“As if I did not know the purses were all made! No, you were talking of old Count Zedwitz, who was so ill that the Doctor had to visit him at his castle. I heard all you said, and understood you, too, though you spoke French.”
Crescenz blushed deeply. Hildegarde became very pale, turned suddenly to her sister, and said, in a scarcely audible voice, “Crescenz, you surely have not had the cruelty to explain to Lina Berger, or gratify her curiosity?”