“I—laughed—and no sooner had he heard the horrid mocking sound of my forced laughter, than he pulled the trigger, and fell, so horribly mangled, to the ground!” She leaned against the corner of a house, and gasped for breath. “Do you think,” she asked, at length, “do you think that I was the immediate cause of his death?”
“No,” said Hamilton. “I can give you nearly the assurance that he had intended to commit suicide—this very night perhaps—his table was covered with letters, and one, addressed to you, I brought away with me.”
“Now, heaven be praised that this sin is not on my soul!” she cried, fervently, and then added, “I have nothing more to tell you: I don’t know how the time passed until you came—it appeared very long, but I never thought of going away. You will understand why I was so dilatory in opening the door, when you recollect that the key was in the pocket of his waistcoat.”
“And now,” said Hamilton, hurrying towards Madame Berger’s house, “let me recommend secrecy. I do not think anyone will imagine that we know of this melancholy affair. Should we speak of it, we might be suspected of knowing more than we may be disposed to relate.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Hildegarde, “and have not the slightest wish to speak of it to anyone, not even to my father, for, never having spoken to him about Oscar, my confidence, coming too late, might offend him, as it did about Count Zedwitz.”
“You will have to make a great effort, and conceal every appearance of agitation from your sister and Madame Lustig,” said Hamilton. “I think we had better avoid the proposed supper at Madame Berger’s. Give me your capuchin, and I will bring you your bonnet and cloak.”
Hildegarde seated herself on the stairs, and leaned her face on her hands.
Hamilton’s appearance without her caused instantaneous and great alarm; but when he said she was waiting for them on the stairs, they became almost angry.
“So she won’t come to supper!” cried Madame Berger. “Just like her, an eternal spoilsport.”
“I fear she has caught cold,” said Hamilton, looking round for the cloak; “you forget how long she has been in the streets in her light dress.”