“Perhaps because he knew that I had left Munich.”
“But he never spoke of any German friend or acquaintance in the least resembling you! He never, I am sure, mentioned your name!”
“It seems, then, I am quite forgotten; but, as I have expatriated myself, I have no right to complain, and it would be unreasonable to expect people to remember me now, or speak of me to their children. Nevertheless, I cannot forget that I have experienced much kindness from your father and mother in former times, and that I have spent months in their house when you were at school. I shall be very glad if I can in any way be of use to you.”
“Thank you. I cannot imagine what motive my father could have had for secrecy and mystery on this occasion,” said Hamilton, musingly. “The idea is excellent, if I could only put it in practice. Perhaps you will be so kind as to give me your advice and assistance?”
“Most willingly; and I shall begin by giving you my advice to wait until you know something about your commission before you negotiate with any family whatever.”
“I am not going into the army—my uncle will not allow me to go to India, so my father intends me to try my fortune in the diplomatic line, and my principal object is to perfect myself in speaking German. A respectable family, could one be found willing to receive me, would answer all my purposes and fulfil all my wishes.”
“A diplomat! Then you must endeavour to conquer the mauvaise honte with which you seem overpowered when speaking to strangers, or it will never do. You are now natural and at your ease, and I tell you honestly, I can scarcely imagine you to be the same person who a quarter of an hour ago stood before me, blushing and squeezing his hat as if in an agony of embarrassment?”
“And I was in an agony of embarrassment,” answered Hamilton, laughing. “I perceived when you entered the room that you did not know me. I fancied that, perhaps, you had not written this letter; or, that it was not intended for me nor for my father; and as I had already had one scene about it this morning, I had no wish for another, fearing that a dénouement with you might not prove so amusing as with old Count Zedwitz.”
Hamilton now gave a short account of that little adventure, which amused her so much that she related it in German to her husband before he left the room. There was something in A. Z.’s manner towards him which peculiarly invited confidence; a sort of mixture of friend and relation. She appeared so interested in all his plans, understood so exactly what he meant, without asking unnecessary questions, that before half an hour had elapsed he had confided to her his intention of writing a book! She exhibited no sort of astonishment at the monstrous idea; he could not even detect a particle of ridicule in her smile as she approved of his intention; hoped he had taken notes, and asked him what was to be the subject of his work.
“‘Germany, and the Domestic Manners of the Germans,’ or something of that sort.”