“To-morrow is Christmas-eve,” said Madame Rosenberg, “a great day with us. Captain Smith told me that you do not celebrate it in the same manner as we do. As to Gustle,” she added in a whisper, “he is a cunning little fellow, and only half believes what he says, but Peppy has still all the innocent faith of childhood. I, for my own part, firmly believed that Jesus gave me all my Christmas presents until I was nearly ten years old; but children now are not so easily made to believe what we say.” “I don’t quite like this idea,” said Hamilton. “Speaking in this way seems to me to be irreverent, and must oblige you to tell the children a number of untruths.” “Ah, bah!” cried Madame Rosenberg, laughing, “you are all too particular in this respect.” “I think,” said her husband, “that as long as they can believe it, they may, and when they cease to do so, they naturally think that it is God who has given us the means of gratifying their wishes, and so the gifts after all come from him.” “Oh, how I enjoy the idea of my Christmas-tree this year,” exclaimed Crescenz. “Of course you do,” said Madame Rosenberg, “as you know that you will get so many presents. The Major returns to-morrow in order to give you the gold chain and topaz ornaments he promised you, and perhaps he may bring something of his sister’s for you from Nuremberg.” “And what do you expect to get?” said Hamilton, turning to Hildegarde. “I don’t know,” she replied, looking with a smile towards her father, “but I have a sort of idea that I shall get my first ball dress and some books. Mamma has promised me a tree for myself, so perhaps I shall give you some of my _bon-bons_.” “How I wish to-morrow were come!” cried Gustle. “I wish dinner were on the table,” said Mr. Rosenberg, “although we get nothing now but veal to eat, which my wife considers as a sort of preservative against cholera.” “You are just as much afraid of cholera as I am, Franz,” she said, and then added in a whisper to Hamilton, “He laughs at me, but he takes drops and pills every night. While you were at Edelhof, we had some scenes which would, perhaps, have alarmed you. First, I thought I had got the cholera, but it was only some fat of roast lamb which had disagreed with me. Then the cook made herself ill by eating the apples which I had given her that the children might not ask for them. Then Peppy——” “Dinner is on the table,” cried old Hans, merely putting his grey head into the room. “That’s right,” cried Mr. Rosenberg, “and now I request that the cholera be no more named among us. A fine of six kreutzers for every time the word is said.” “Oh, as to not saying the word ‘cholera,’” began his wife. “A fine, a fine,” cried Mr. Rosenberg; “the money shall be put into a box and given to the poor.” “Oh, dear,” exclaimed Crescenz, “I must take great care, or all my pocket-money will be spent on the cho——”