Christiern. Oh! I am not at all tired.
Mrs. Ulrica. Not tired! don’t tell me that, now, for I know that you are tired, and can’t help being tired, say what you will—Drink this dish of coffee, at any rate—(he drinks coffee).
Christiern. But the thoughts of seeing my Catherine and my little ones—
Mrs. Ulrica. Very true, very true; but in one word, I want to see the happy meeting, for such things are a treat to me, and don’t come every day, you know; and now, in the morning, I could go along with you to the cottage, but you must be sensible I could not be spared out this night, on no account or possibility.
Enter Footman.
Footman. Ma’am, the cook is hunting high and low for the brandy-cherries.
Mrs. Ulrica. Lord bless me! are not they there before those eyes of yours?—But I can’t blame nobody for being out of their wits a little with joy such a night as this.
{Exit Footman.}
Christiern. Never man was better beloved in the regiment than Count Helmaar.
Mrs. Ulrica. Ay! ay! so he is every where, and so he deserves to be. Is your coffee good? sweeten to your taste, and don’t spare sugar, nor don’t spare any thing that this house affords; for, to be sure, you deserve it all—nothing can be too good for him that saved my master’s life. So now that we are comfortable and quiet over our dish of coffee, pray be so very good as to tell me the whole story of my master’s escape, and of the horse being killed under him, and of your carrying him off on your shoulders; for I’ve only heard it by bits and scraps, as one may say; I’ve seen only the bill of fare, ha! ha! ha!—so now pray set out all the good things for me, in due order, garnished and all; and, before you begin, taste these cakes—they are my own making.