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Coldfield, with the best intentions, nearer the truth than she knew. "I am sorry, Laura, that I never told you before." Hildegarde laughed. "Sooner or later this must happen. I worked too hard, perhaps. At any rate, the opera will know me no more." There was the hard blue of flint in Cathewe's eyes as they met and held Breitmann's. There was a duel, and the latter was routed.
This would be far more exciting than dodging ice-floes and freezing one's toes. Laura told him the news. Their guests would arrive that evening in time for dinner. It was Breitmann's habit to come down first. He would thrum a little on the piano or take down some old volume. To-night it was Heine. He had not met any of the guests yet, which he considered a piece of good fortune.
"Are you not dead for sleep?" "It does not matter." Breitmann's eyes opened, for his brain was wide awake. "Ferraud?" "Yes. They wished me to say good-by for them." "To me?" incredulously. "They have none but good wishes." "She will never know?" "Not unless Mr. Fitzgerald tells her." "Hildegarde, I had planned her abduction. Don't misunderstand. I have sunk low indeed, but not so low as that.
And where's the other ship following at our heels, as they always do in treasure hunts, the rival pirates who will cut our throats when we have dug up the treasure?" from Cathewe. "Treasures!" mumbled M. Ferraud from behind his pineapple. Carefully he avoided Fitzgerald's gaze, but he noted the expression on Breitmann's face. It was not pleasant. "Just a moment," the admiral requested patiently.
"None that she can not throw off at any time." Breitmann's mind was working strangely. "If she would have me I would marry her tomorrow," went on Cathewe, playing openly, "I would marry her to-morrow, priest or protestant, for her religion would be mine." There was a spark of admiration in Breitmann's eyes. This man Cathewe was out of the ordinary. Well, as for that, so was he himself.
At the end, he paused before the window, which, like the one in Breitmann's room, afforded a clear outlook to the open waters. Night was already mistress of the sea; and below, the village lights twinkled from various points. Laura tried on three gowns, to the very great surprise of her maid. Usually her mistress told her in the morning what to lay out for dinner.
All day long he had been obsessed with the conviction that if Breitmann ever made a start it would be some time that night. Distinctly he heard the light rattle of a carriage. It stopped outside the gardens. He pressed closer against the wall. The door to Breitmann's room opened gently and the man himself stepped out cautiously. "So," began Fitzgerald lightly, "your majesty goes forth to-night?"
Some years ago when I published certain poems in the broken English spoken by Germans, an American philologist, named Haldemann, demonstrated to his own satisfaction that the language which I had put into Hans Breitmann's mouth was inaccurate, because I had not reduced it to an uniform dialect, making the same word the same in spelling and pronunciation on all occasions, when the most accurate observation had convinced me, as it must any one, that those who have only partially learned a language continually vary their methods of uttering its words.
Breitmann's room, and saw Mr. Bentley still seated where he had left him. The old gentleman looked up at him. "Mrs. Breitmann and I are agreed, Mr. Hodder, that Mrs. Garvin ought not to remain in there. What do you think?" "By all means, no," said the rector. The German woman burst into a soliloquy of sympathy that became incoherent. "She will not leave him, nein she will not come...."
Breitmann laughed, but this time without bitterness. "It is a harmless hobby," rather resenting Breitmann's tone. "More than that," quickly; "it is philanthropic, since it will employ me for some length of time." "When do they expect you?" "At half-after ten." "We'll go up together, then. Did you see the admiral's daughter?" "A daughter? Has he one?"
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