Hamilton smiled as he received from the old man a sachet containing camphor.
“Perhaps you will give me a line for mademoiselle; she is very uneasy.”
Hamilton wrote a few lines with his pencil.
“She said,” remarked old Hans, “you must hang it on your neck, and that she would pray for the wearer every morning in the Frauen church.”
“Did she say that?” cried Hamilton, hastily. “At what hour will she be there?”
“Between six and seven o’clock, I should think,” answered the man, with a look of intelligence by no means agreeable to Hamilton.
“You need not say that I asked you this question, Hans; it might prevent her from going to church, you know.”
“If you please, I can say you don’t think of going to the Frauen church to-morrow morning.”
“Say nothing at all, excepting that I am obliged to her and shall wear the amulet,” replied Hamilton, abruptly turning away.
The Countess Zedwitz, her daughter, and son-in-law, arrived before daybreak the next morning. They were at first so agitated that they could not speak a word; Zedwitz, on the contrary, was perfectly calm. “I expected you, mother,” he said, kissing her hand; “I knew you would come to me, but I wish that dear Agnes and Lengheim had remained at home. You must send them back in the course of the day.”