“It was accidental; she just came out, and we met in the passage...”
Some time passed--an hour, perhaps. A glass was upset over a lady's
dress. As soon as Edwarda saw it, she cried:
“What has happened? That was Glahn, of course.”
I had not done it: I was standing at the other end of the room when it
happened. After that I drank pretty hard again, and kept near the door,
to be out of the way of the dancers.
The Baron still had the ladies constantly round him. He regretted that
his collections were packed away, so that he could not show them--that
bunch of weed from the White Sea, the clay from Korholmerne, highly
interesting stone formations from the bottom of the sea. The ladies
peeped curiously at his shirt studs, the five-pointed coronets--they
meant that he was a Baron, of course. All this time the Doctor created
no sensation; even his witty oath, _Död og Pinsel_, no longer had any
effect. But when Edwarda was speaking, he was always on the spot,
correcting her language, embarrassing her with little shades of meaning,
keeping her down with calm superiority.
She said:
“... until I go over the valley of death.”
And the Doctor asked:
“Over what?”
“The valley of death. Isn't that what it's called--the valley of death?”
“I have heard of the river of death. I presume that is what you mean.”
Later on, she talked of having something guarded like a ...
“Dragon,” put in the Doctor.
“Yes, like a dragon,” she answered.
But the Doctor said:
“You can thank me for saving you there. I am sure you were going to say
Argus.”
The Baron raised his eyebrows and looked at the Doctor in surprise
through his thick glasses, as if he had never heard such ridiculous
things. But the Doctor paid no heed. What did he care for the Baron?
I still lurked by the door. The dancers swept through the room. I
managed to start a conversation with the governess from the vicarage. We
talked about the war, the state of affairs in the Crimea, the happenings
in France, Napoleon as Emperor, his protection of the Turks; the young
lady had read the papers that summer, and could tell me the news. At
last we sat down on a sofa and went on talking.
Edwarda, passing, stopped in front of us. Suddenly she said:
“You must forgive me, Lieutenant, for surprising you outside like that.
I will never do it again.”
And she laughed again, and did not look at me.
“Edwarda,” I said, “do stop.”
She had spoken very formally, which meant no good, and her look was
malicious. I thought of the Doctor, and shrugged my shoulders
carelessly, as he would have done. She said:
“But why don't you go out in the kitchen? Eva is there. I think you
ought to stay there.”
And there was hate in her eyes.
I had not been to parties often; certainly I had never before heard such
a tone at any of the few I had been to. I said:
“Aren't you afraid of being misunderstood, Edwarda?”
“Oh, but how? Possibly, of course, but how?”
“You sometimes speak without thinking. Just now, for instance, it
_seemed_ to me as if you were actually telling me to go to the kitchen
and stay there; and that, of course, must be a misunderstanding--I know
quite well that you did not intend to be so rude.”
She walked a few paces away from us. I could see by her manner that she
was thinking all the time of what I had said. She turned round, came
back, and said breathlessly:
“It was no misunderstanding, Lieutenant; you heard correctly--I did tell
you to go to the kitchen.”
“Oh, Edwarda!” broke out the terrified governess.
And I began talking again about the war and the state of affairs in the
Crimea; but my thoughts were far distant. I was no longer intoxicated,
only hopelessly confused. The earth seemed fading from under my feet,
and I lost my composure, as at so many unfortunate times before. I got
up from the sofa and made as if to go out. The Doctor stopped me.
“I have just been hearing your praises,” he said.
“Praises! From whom?”
“From Edwarda. She is still standing away off there in the corner,
looking at you with glowing eyes. I shall never forget it; her eyes were
absolutely in love, and she said out loud that she admired you.”
“Good,” I said with a laugh. Alas, there was not a clear thought in my
head.
I went up to the Baron, bent over him as if to whisper something--and
when I was close enough, I spat in his ear. He sprang up and stared
idiotically at me. Afterwards I saw him telling Edwarda what had
occurred; I saw how disgusted she was. She thought, perhaps, of her shoe
that I had thrown into the water, of the cups and glasses I had so
unfortunately managed to break, and of all the other breaches of good
taste I had committed; doubtless all those things flashed into her mind
again. I was ashamed. It was all over with me; whichever way I turned, I
met frightened and astonished looks. And I stole away from Sirilund,
without a word of leave-taking or of thanks.