“Adieu, adieu,” was repeated in every possible tone, while the carriage drove off. A moment afterwards, Crescenz was scampering up the stairs, dragging Madame Lustig after her; and when Hamilton and Hildegarde, who followed more leisurely, reached the door, they were obliged to remain there, for Crescenz, dancing a galop with Madame Lustig, was now forcing her backwards the whole length of the passage at a tremendous pace, the jolly old woman keeping the step, and springing with all her might for fear of falling. Hamilton and Hildegarde looked on, laughing. At length they stopped for want of breath. “Well—what—shall we—do first?” said Crescenz, twisting up her hair, which had fallen on her shoulders. “Do!” panted Madame Lustig, as she leaned against the wall. “You have nearly—killed me—this is not the way to make me able to go to the masqu——” In a moment Crescenz’s apron was over her head, and a new struggle began. “I asked you what we should do first?” cried Crescenz, laughing, “suppose—suppose we make ice-cream? Mamma has left me the keys, and allowed me to take whatever I like from the store-room. You have a good receipt, I am sure; let us make the cream, and Mr. Hamilton and Hildegarde can turn it round in the ice-pail!” “Shall we not first arrange with Walburg about the dinner?” “Oh, dinner! how very disagreeable to be obliged to eat dinner! Cannot we for once, just by way of a joke,” she said coaxingly, “have something instead of dinner?” “Soup, boiled beef, and steam noodles are, however, not to be despised; and that is what your mother ordered,” said Madame Lustig; “besides, on Mr. Hamilton’s account, you ought——” “Oh, I have no objection to dining on ice-cream,” said Hamilton, laughing. “You see!” said Crescenz, “Mr. Hamilton is so—so——You see he will do whatever we wish. Let us make some cakes out of the cookery-book, and then we can all be merry together in the kitchen!” A sort of compromise was made. The soup and boiled beef were allowed, but the ice-cream and several kinds of cakes were to be forthwith fabricated. Madame Lustig was, like most Germans in her station in life, an excellent cook; she was also a good-humoured, thoughtless person, and soon became quite as unrestrained as her young companions. Her cap and false curls were laid aside, her sleeves tucked up, a capacious white apron bound over her black silk dress, and she was immediately employed in beating up eggs and pounding sugar. Hamilton amused himself singing aloud the cookery-book in recitative, until, in the course of time, he was duly established with Hildegarde near a window in the corridor, a large bucket of ice between them, in which was placed the pail containing the cream. They turned it round alternately, and Crescenz occasionally inspected the process, dancing with delight as it began to freeze. “Oh, dear! how nice! I hope it will not melt before Lina Berger comes. Is this window cool enough?”