“Skating! Here, Hans, look for my skates directly, there is nothing I enjoy more than skating. We will go out together.” “But,” said Zedwitz, hesitating, “is it advisable to go out so late? Remember, you have been more than three weeks confined to the house. What will the Doctor say?” “Hang the Doctor,” cried Hamilton, rising. “I am sure I am exceedingly obliged to you,” said his wife, pretending to look offended. “By way of precaution, and not to lose time, we will drive to the lake in a hackney coach,” said Hamilton. “Come with us,” he added, turning cavalierly to Madame Berger. “I have no objection, provided you leave me at home on your way back.” “Agreed,” cried Hamilton, entering his bedroom to make the necessary change in his dress. Madame Berger was standing opposite a long glass, arranging her bonnet, Zedwitz turning over the leaves of some new book, and Hamilton issuing from his room, when Hildegarde again appeared, carrying another bowl of soup. She was so surprised at the appearance of the latter that she stopped in the middle of the room, and looked inquiringly from one to the other without speaking. “Mr. Hamilton is going out to take a drive,” began Madame Berger, fearing Hildegarde might try to make him alter his intention. “I am going with Zedwitz to skate in the English Gardens,” said Hamilton. “Perhaps, Hildegarde, you will go with us; I can play chaperon on the occasion,” said Madame Berger. Hildegarde did not vouchsafe an answer, but turning to Zedwitz, she said reproachfully: “This is not an hour to tempt an invalid to leave the house for the first time.” “I assure you I have not tempted him,” replied Zedwitz; “I only mentioned having been skating to excuse my coming so late.” “You surely will not think of going out this cold day,” she said, turning to Hamilton. “The weather,” said Madame Berger, “is not likely to grow warmer at this time of the year, and I suppose he must leave the house some time or other.” “In fact, I am no longer an invalid,” said Hamilton, “and the air, though cold, will do me good.” “At least drink this beef-tea before you go,” said Hildegarde, approaching him. “How on earth can you expect Mr. Hamilton to swallow such slop as this!” cried Madame Berger, raising the cover as she spoke. Hildegarde angrily pushed away her hand. “The carriage is at the door,” said Hans. “Come,” cried Madame Berger, laughing, “you have no time to drink this hot water at present, and if you do not make haste I must decline going with you to admire your skating, for it will be too late for me. Have you courage?” she asked, giving Hamilton a look of intelligence. Hildegarde had perceived that he wished to avoid drinking the beef-tea. She had placed it on the table, and was now standing near the stove apparently tranquil, but a slight contraction of her brows, and the extraordinary brilliancy of her eyes as she followed the motions of each speaker betrayed the anger with which she was struggling.