“For us all, Lina, for us all!” cried Crescenz, eagerly.
“We may as well dress at your house,” cried Madame Lustig. “It is not necessary that Walburg should know anything about the matter. The Doctor will have gone out before seven.”
“Oh, yes, you may come at half-past six; I must have time to dress Mr. Hamilton as well as myself, you know! Adieu, au revoir.”
Immediately after dinner, Hildegarde put on a black dress, and came to the drawing-room where Hamilton was sitting, or rather reclining, on the sofa, reading; she leaned slightly over him, and almost in a whisper asked if he were disposed to give her advice, should she request it.
“I don’t know,” answered Hamilton, looking up with a smile; “I have been so long dismissed from the office of preceptor, that I have quite got out of the habit of giving advice.”
“Forget that you have been preceptor, and take the name of friend,” said Hildegarde; “we shall get on better, I think.”
“I like the proposition,” cried Hamilton, quickly rising from his recumbent position, “our ages are suitable. Let us,” he added, laughing, “let us now swear an eternal friendship.”
“Agreed,” said Hildegarde, accepting his offered hand. “And now, tell me, shall I go to this masquerade or not?”
“I thought you had already decided!”
“Not quite. I wish very much to go, that is the simple truth; but I fear, that under the name of obedience to Madame Lustig I am trying to persuade myself, that I am following my mother’s injunctions; while, in fact, I am only seeking an excuse to do what I wish. Do you understand me?”