The attempt to find the Rosenbergs, or rather Hildegarde, among the moving multitude, was long fruitless, and might have proved altogether so, had not they met the Hoffmanns and Raimund, who led them at once to the object of their search. Madame Rosenberg was preparing to depart, and held in her hand a brush dipped in water, which she shook over the grave. Hildegarde and Crescenz followed her example, before they spoke to Zedwitz or Hamilton; but directly they laid it aside, the two boys, finding themselves unwatched, began a contest for it, which became so loud, that their mother, turning quickly towards them, and perceiving their irreverent conduct, seized the subject of dispute, and bestowing a thump upon each, shoved them on before her, while she exclaimed: “I ought to have left you at home, you tiresome children; you have never ceased plaguing me since we came out. Only imagine,” she said, addressing Hamilton; “Gustle was twice nearly run over, and Peppy fell so often, that the Major was at last obliged to carry him!” Zedwitz and Raimund had immediately joined Hildegarde. Raimund, whose mouth had been distended by a frightful yawn when they had met him, was now smiling radiantly, and evidently endeavouring to monopolise his cousin, who, however, seemed rather indisposed to listen to him, and bestowed her attentions almost exclusively on Zedwitz. Raimund at length rejoined his betrothed, saying, loud enough for Hamilton to hear, “Hildegarde knows what she is about; when Zedwitz is present she has neither word nor look for her poor cousin!” “You get words and looks enough from her every evening when she is with us,” observed Madame de Hoffmann, with some bitterness. Hamilton turned round, and saw Mademoiselle de Hoffmann’s glance of reproach towards her mother, and Raimund’s confusion. The words “every evening” grated on his ear, and before he could arrange the unpleasant ideas which had at once entered his mind, they had reached the churchyard gate, and Zedwitz, approaching him, whispered hurriedly, “I would not lose this walk home for any consideration. Your advice about Hildegarde was excellent, and I am determined to follow it. Pray let your servant take charge of my horse.” “My advice!” repeated Hamilton, with a forced smile, but Zedwitz had left him, and the crowd had closed between them. Murmuring some directions to his servant, Hamilton sprang upon his horse—the animal, always restive, no sooner felt his impetuous spring than he plunged violently, and on receiving an angry check, reared—lost his balance—and fell backwards—rolling over his rider to the horror of all the bystanders. --------------------- CHAPTER XIX. GERMAN SOUP