“A very natural dislike at this time of year,” said her husband. “It makes me freeze only to look at Crescenz.”
“Oh, I don’t feel at all cold,” cried Crescenz; “I was down at the Hoffmanns’ too, and there is such a splendid déjeûner laid out—and Marie really looks quite lovely in her white silk dress and orange flowers!”
“You must excuse my doubting your last assertion, Crescenz,” observed her father, smiling. “Mademoiselle de Hoffmann is a most amiable, excellent person, but as to looking quite lovely in any dress, the thing is impossible.”
“This day week,” said Major Stultz, pompously, “we shall see a bride who looks lovely in every dress!”
At this moment Hildegarde entered the room; her paleness was still more apparent than the night before, and her drooping eyelids showed plainly that she had not slept. She wished Hamilton good morning without looking at him, and then turned to her father.
“My dear child,” said the latter, taking her hand compassionately, “you seem really ill. Shall I send for Doctor Berger?”
“Oh, no!” she answered, “I—I—am only cold,” and she walked shivering to the stove.
“It will soon be time to go downstairs,” said Madame Rosenberg. “I think we had better dress ourselves for the occasion. This hint,” she added, “is intended for the Major too—he seems to forget the present, in anticipation of the future.”
Major Stultz laughed, bowed to Crescenz, who was not looking at him, and left the room with his future father-in-law.
The moment the door closed, Crescenz bounded towards her sister. “Oh, Hildegarde, you have no idea how beautifully arranged everything is downstairs! What a pity there are to be so few people! It was very stupid of Oscar to prefer driving off into the country at this time of year, to having a gay dance in the evening. However, Marie is quite satisfied. Do you know, the old Countess Raimund was below, looking so red and apoplectic. She did not take the least notice of me, though I heard her ask who I was. I dare say her husband would not acknowledge us either; but he was not there. They said he was to come with Oscar. Another carriage has just driven up to the door. Perhaps that may be Oscar. I wonder, will he be married in uniform? No—these are some acquaintances of the Hoffmanns’—we don’t know them.”