The girls stood in the shadow of an old gateway, unperceived, and waited anxiously what should follow.
Lightly folding and fastening the cap together, he dropped it down, and, leaning forward, tried to catch the top of a young birch rustling close by the wall. Twice he missed it; the first time he frowned, but the second he uttered an emphatic, “Deuce take it!”
Helen and Amy looked at each other with a mutual smile and exclamation,—
There was time for no more—a violent rustle, a boyish laugh, and down swung the slender tree, with the young man clinging to the top.
As he landed safely, Helen cried, “Bravo!” and Amy rushed out, exclaiming reproachfully, yet admiringly,—
“How could you do it and frighten us so? I shall never express a wish before you again, for if I wanted the moon you’d rashly try to get it, I know.”
“_Certainement_, mademoiselle,” was the smiling reply, Casimer presented the flowers, as if the exploit was a mere trifle.
“Now I shall go and press them at once in uncle’s guide-book. Come and help me, else you will be in mischief again.” And Amy led the way to the major with her flowers and their giver.
Helen roamed into one of the ruined courts for a last look at a fountain which pleased her eye. A sort of cloister ran round the court, open on both sides, and standing in one of these arched nooks, she saw Hoffman and a young girl talking animatedly. The girl was pretty, well dressed, and seemed refusing something for which the other pleaded eagerly. His arm was about her, and she leaned affectionately upon him, with a white hand now and then caressing his face, which was full of sparkle and vivacity now. They seemed about to part as Helen looked, for the maiden standing on tiptoe, laughingly offered her blooming cheek, and as Karl kissed it warmly, he said in German, so audibly Helen heard every word,—
“Farewell, my Ludmilla. Keep silent and I shall soon be with you. Embrace the little one, and do not let him forget me.”
Both left the place as they spoke, each going a different way, and Helen slowly returned to her party, saying to herself in a troubled tone,—
“‘Ludmilla’ and ‘the little one’ are his wife and child, doubtless. I wonder if uncle knows that.”
When Hoffman next appeared she could not resist looking at him; but the accustomed gravity was resumed, and nothing remained of the glow and brightness he had worn when with Ludmilla in the cloister.