“_Kreuz!_ _Himmel!_ _Saperment!_” exclaimed Fritz, pitching the book up to the ceiling; “this is exactly too much! when a fellow has been all the morning at school, and comes home for an hour or so to eat and amuse himself, to be set down in this way to learn French. I tell you what, Hildegarde, I shall begin to hate the sight of you if you plague me with these old grammars.”
“What shall I do with him?” asked Hildegarde, appealing to her sister.
“Fritz, learn your lesson—there’s a love!” interposed Crescenz; “see what a good boy Gustle is!” and she carelessly placed her hand on the shoulder of the latter, who was industriously rolling the leaf of his book into the form of a trumpet, and yawning tremendously.
“I will give up all idea of ever entering the cadet corps, or ever being an officer,” cried Fritz, kicking the book as it lay upon the ground, “rather than write these odious exercises and listen to Hildegarde’s long explanations.”
“But think of the sword and the uniform, Fritz,” said Crescenz, coaxingly.
“_Donner und Doria!_—what is the use of a sword and uniform, when I must learn vocabulary and write French exercises?”
“Come, Fritz,” cried Hildegarde, authoritatively, “let me hear no more of this absurd swearing; it does not at all become a boy of your age. If you will not learn your lesson, I can, at least, correct your exercise.”
She stretched out her hand for the slate. Fritz anticipated her, seized and flung it up in the air, as he had done the grammar; but it did not fall so harmlessly. Hamilton, who had been standing at the open door, rushed forward, but was too late to prevent its descending with considerable force upon her temple, where it made a wound, from which the blood instantly began to trickle in large dark drops. Hildegarde started up angrily, while Fritz, after the first moment of dismay had passed, ran towards her, and throwing his arms round her, exclaimed, “Forgive me, forgive me—indeed I did not intend to hurt you.”
“If papa has come home from his _bureau_,” said Crescenz, preparing to leave the room, “I’ll go this moment and tell him.”
“Stay,” cried Hildegarde, hastily; “he says he did not do it on purpose; and after all, I am not much hurt. You must not tell papa or mamma either.”