“Your countrymen can drive mail-coaches better than sledges,” said Major Stultz, laughing. “It is not proved that they were English,” said Hamilton, with a smile only perceptible to Hildegarde. “They may have been Germans.” “Zimmermann said they were certainly English, and he understands the language. The lady thanked him in French for extricating her out of the snow; he says she was quite English-looking, and uncommonly handsome!” “I have no doubt of his judgment on that subject,” said Hamilton. “And,” said Crescenz, “her husband seemed so fond of her, and said all sorts of things to her when he assisted her into the sledge again!” “All sorts of things!” cried Hamilton, laughing; “such as, for instance——” “Oh, I cannot say the English words—I have never heard you say anything that sounded like them.” “Of course not—I must wait until I have a wife, I suppose.” Hildegarde’s face had flushed during this conversation. Hamilton seemed so much amused with it, that he forgot the overture he had been so anxious to hear. “Your friend did not know at all who they were?” he asked, bending over his tea-cup. “Not in the least,” answered Major Stultz; “but the lady made a great impression on Zimmermann, he seemed altogether to have fallen in love with her?” “Oh, ho!” exclaimed Mr. Rosenberg, “what did his wife say to that?” “She said she had no cause for jealousy, the Englishwoman did not look at anyone—she only seemed anxious to assure her husband that she was not in the least hurt, though she must have been considerably bruised, and she appeared to wish everyone else at the bottom of the sea! A good example for you, Crescenz, next month, eh?” Crescenz looked silly, and turned away. “Half-past six!” cried Mr. Rosenberg, looking at his watch; “I must be off. Mr. Hamilton seems to forget that he intended to go with me to the theatre. The overture will be over.” “But not the ballet,” said Hamilton, “and the ballet in _Robert_ is what I like best; if I be in time for that and the Princess’s _aria_, I am satisfied.” Mr. Rosenberg, who went regularly four times a week to the theatre, and particularly disliked arriving late, partly from the fear of being obliged to walk over his neighbors’ feet in order to reach his chair, partly from long habits of punctuality, after a few minutes’ indulgence of civilly expressive impatience, quitted the room, bowing over his watch, which he still held in his hand, as a sort of excuse to Hamilton. “I thought you intended to go to?” said Crescenz to Major Stultz. “Yes, Zimmermann has given me his place to-night, but I believe I shall wait for Mr. Hamilton.” “I shall be delighted,” said Hamilton, “but you must not expect me to leave this warm room for an hour at least.” “An hour!” exclaimed Major Stultz; “why, half the opera will be over.” “Very likely, but I have heard it so often.” “Do you forget the ballet?” “Very likely I shall,” said Hamilton.