“Very well: you may go—and—shut the door—Hildegarde, I mean Mademoiselle Rosenberg—do not remain here. Give up this idea of going to Ida Waldorf; it will never answer—believe me you will be most unhappy!”
“It must answer,” said Hildegarde, “and I shall not be unhappy, for the idea of being a governess is familiar to me from my infancy, and has therefore lost all its terrors.”
“Excuse my questioning you,” cried Zedwitz quickly, “but may I ask how you happen to become acquainted with the Baroness Waldorf?”
“I do not know her at all—I never saw her—it was all arranged by Mademoiselle Hortense, one of the governesses of our school.”
“Did the Baroness Waldorf know your name?” asked Zedwitz, eagerly.
“At first, perhaps not,” answered Hildegarde, with a look of surprise, “but in the letter which told her that I had left Munich, Mademoiselle Hortense must have mentioned it—I should think my name a matter of very little importance!”
“In this instance, you are mistaken—I—I fear the Baroness is not likely to return for some time—I——”
“Her servant said she would not be long absent—that her leaving was quite a sudden thing,” observed Hildegarde.
“Her leaving when she expected you was unpardonable, cruel, ungenerous!” exclaimed Zedwitz, vehemently.
“I was rather shocked at first myself, but I afterwards thought she had not perhaps received the letter in time——”