“Well, the tea ought to be good! It has required long enough to make it, I am sure!” she observed, while setting down a lamp, which she had brought with her. “Crescenz, your father, it seems, has invited a whole lot of people without telling me, and he wishes to play a rubber of whist in the bedroom. I have no more handsome candlesticks, so you must light the lamp; the wick is in it, I know, for I cleaned it myself before I went to Seon, so you have only to put in the oil and light it.” She took Madame Berger’s arm, saying, “This is poor amusement for you, standing in the kitchen all the evening,” and walked away without perceiving Hamilton, who was examining the construction of the hearth and chimney with an interest which greatly astonished the cook. “Oh, Wally—what shall I do?” cried Crescenz, “I never touched a lamp in my life, and I am sure I cannot light it.” “It’s quite easy, Miss Crescenz; I’ll pour the oil, and you light those pieces of wood and hold them to the wick.” Crescenz did as she was desired. “Stop till the oil is in, miss, if you please,” said Wally. The oil was put in, the wick lighted, the cylinder fixed, and Crescenz raised the globe towards its place, but either it was too heavy for her hand, or she had not mentally measured the height, for it struck with considerable force against the upper part of the lamp, and broke to pieces with a loud crash. “Oh, heavens, what _shall_ I do!” she cried in her agitation, clasping the pieces of glass which had remained in her hand. “What _shall_ I do! Mamma will be so angry! I dare not tell her—for my life I dare not. What on earth shall I do!” “Send out and buy another as fast as you can,” said Hamilton. “Is there no glass or lamp shop near this?” “I don’t know,” said Crescenz, blushing deeply. “Yes, there is,” said Walburg, “in the next street, just round the corner, you know, Miss Crescenz—but a——” and she stopped and looked confused. “I _must_ tell mamma, or get Hildegarde to tell her. Oh, what a misfortune! what a dreadful misfortune!” “Go out and buy a globe, and don’t waste time looking at the fragments,” said Hamilton, impatiently to Walburg. “There is no necessity for saying anything about the matter.” “But,” said Walburg, hesitatingly, and looking first at Crescenz, and then at Hamilton, “but I have no money.” “Stupid enough my not thinking of that,” said Hamilton, taking out his purse. “That is at least a florin too much,” cried Walburg, enchanted at his generosity. “Never mind, run, run; keep what remains for yourself, but make haste.” “Oh, indeed I cannot allow this,” said Crescenz faintly; “it would be very wrong—and——” but the door had already closed on the messenger. “Suppose, now—mamma should come,” said Crescenz, uneasily. “Not at all likely, as everyone is drinking tea.” The drawing-room door opened, and the gay voices of the assembled company resounded in the passage.