“What! indeed!” said Hamilton.
“The Major shouted the word Nymphenburg and coffee as loud as he could; he thought they might give you an idea what we meant.”
“We heard nothing. The confounded bells made such a noise.”
“The bells are very useful when it grows foggy, or dark, as we found this evening,” observed Major Stultz.
“Hildegarde, you may light the candles—Mr. Hamilton cannot find the way to his mouth.”
Hildegarde brought them, while Crescenz, who had joined the others, continued repeating: “So pleasant, so gay! So many people! And then about the upset—did you relate about that?”
“No,” cried Hamilton, looking up; “pray tell me about it. You don’t mean to say you were upset?”
“Oh, no! But a young Englishman and his wife were thrown out of their sledge to-day when they were driving around the palings at Nymphenburg. Captain What’s-his-name told us all about it, and they were so young and so handsome, he said.”
“Your countrymen can drive mail-coaches better than sledges,” said Major Stultz, laughing.
“It is not proved that they were English,” said Hamilton, with a smile only perceptible to Hildegarde. “They may have been Germans.”