M. GOEFLE’S fourth meal had just been served, and he was seriously
occupied in giving Master Nils a lesson in deportment, while the
child, standing before him with a napkin on his arm, seemed in quite a
teachable mood.
“Bravo, Christian, you have come precisely at the right time!” cried
the doctor of laws; “I was on the point of taking my coffee all alone.
I made it myself, for both of us; I can guarantee that it is excellent,
and you must want something to warm your stomach.”
“I will join you in a moment, my dear doctor,” replied Christian,
taking off his torn vest and preparing to wash his hands, which were
covered with blood.
“Good gracious!” resumed M. Goefle, “are you wounded, or have you by
chance cut the throats of all the bears of Sevenberg?”
“There has been a little of that,” replied Christian, “but I think it
is human blood that is on my hands now, Oh, M. Goefle, I have such a
story to tell you!”
“You are pale!” cried the lawyer; “you have something more serious to
tell me about than a hunting exploit. What has happened--a quarrel--a
misfortune? Speak quickly--you take away my appetite.”
“Nothing has happened to me that ought to have that effect upon you, M.
Goefle. Go on with your supper. I will try to keep you company, and I
will speak French, because of--”
“Yes, yes,” replied M. Goefle, in French; “because of the red ears of
this little imbecile. Go on, I hear you.”
While Christian was giving M. Goefle all the particulars of his
adventures, and confiding to him also his conjectures and his emotions,
they heard from afar the sound of the noisy fanfares. The baron had
left the forest as he so frequently disappeared from his saloons. The
cold, the fatigue of the expedition, and, above all, his impatience to
attend to the business treated of in Johan’s missive, were more than
he could endure, and accordingly, after killing a deer, he had stepped
into his sleigh under the pretence of going farther on, while the other
hunters were requested to pay no attention to his movements, but to
continue their sports in any way they chose. Soon after, Larrson and
the lieutenant had joined this hunt, where, agreeably to the universal
anticipation, no trace of any bears had been seen, but where some few
white deer had been killed, and a great number of very large hares.
When the fog came on, the prudent people hastened to drive back to the
chateau; but some of the young folks, escorted by all the peasants of
the neighborhood, who had been employed as trackers, delayed too long
in descending the mountain, and were obliged to stop at the foot of
the hogar, where Larrson advised that they should wait until the moon
arose, or until the vapors hanging over the lake should be lifted
by the sudden gust of wind by which the rising of the moon is often
preceded. Some of the party had the lanterns of their sleighs lighted,
and preferred to return at once, but about a dozen remained. Plenty of
brandy was distributed to the peasants, who dispersed to their various
homes. The servants and marksmen blew trumpets, and lighted a large
fire on the hogar, close to the formless fragments of the statue of
snow, and the merry company assembled in the grotto, before which the
game was piled up in the form of a pyramid, and gayly chatted there at
their leisure, relating their adventures, and discussing the various
episodes of the hunt.
But the major’s stories so far exceeded what any of his companions had
to relate, that soon every one was silent, to listen to him. Among
his audience, which included both sexes, were Olga, Martina, and
Margaret, who had been allowed by her aunt to remain on the hogar with
Mademoiselle Potin and the minister’s daughter.
“So, gentlemen,” said Olga to the major and the lieutenant, “you have
been slyly performing dangerous exploits, the proof of which you
promise to show us to-morrow, if we will consent to take a walk to your
house.”
“Say the _proofs_!” replied the major; “an enormous creature, a
spotted bear with blue eyes, quite a large black bear, and two cubs,
which we intend to bring up, so as to have the pleasure of letting them
loose and hunting them when they are grown.”
“But who was so fortunate as to kill or capture them all?” inquired
Martina Akerstrom, the blond fiancée of the lieutenant.
“The lieutenant captured a cub,” replied the major, turning with
an expressive smile to his friend; “the corporal and myself caught
another; the peasant who was guiding us wounded the large she-bear, and
attacked the black bear; but these two furious beasts would infallibly
have torn him into pieces, if another of my friends, who reached the
spot all alone, had not ripped open the first, and broken the head of
the other with a ball, at half an inch from the poor devil’s face.”
If Christian’s exploit had been related a third time, it is quite
evident that the distance between his ball and the danneman’s head
would have been inappreciable. The major certainly did not intend to
exaggerate: however, his auditors cried out in amazement; but the
lieutenant struck his fist upon the table, and took an energetic oath
that the distance, if anything, was less, rather than greater, than
what the major had said. The lieutenant did not intend to exaggerate,
either; how could his dear Osmund be mistaken?
“Well, at any rate,” said Margaret, “the slayer of the monsters you
have described must be very courageous, and have great presence of
mind, and I should like to offer him my sincere congratulations. Does
he remain anonymous out of modesty, or is he not here?”
“He is not here,” replied the baron.
“Is it really true?” rejoined Martina Akerstrom, looking artlessly at
her betrothed.
“It is only too true,” answered the lieutenant, heaving a heart-felt
and equally ingenuous sigh.
“But did he make you promise,” said Margaret, “not to reveal his name?”
“We would not have consented to make any such promise,” replied the
major, “we love him too well for that; but, when one has a secret
which, by good luck, excites the curiosity of the ladies, he likes
to make his importance felt, and so we will not tell you anything
more--will we lieutenant?--until you have done your very best to guess
the name of our hero.”
“Perhaps it was Monsieur Stangstadius,” said Mademoiselle Potin,
laughing.
“No,” replied some one, “the professor was at our hunt, and he left
with the Baron de Waldemora.”
“Well,” said Olga, “it may have been precisely to join these gentlemen
that they went. Who knows whether it was not the baron?”
“Such exploits are not suited to his age,” said a young man, who would
have been very glad to pay court to Olga, in an affected tone.
“Why not?” she rejoined.
“I do not say,” observed Larrson, “that he is too old for such
exploits, but it is my opinion that he has never had a taste for them.
The baron has never, I believe, hunted in the new style; that is,
without being intrenched behind a net of strong and well-stretched
cords.”
“What!” cried Margaret, “did you hunt without nets?”
“In the same way as the peasants of the mountain,” rejoined the major;
“it is the best way.”
“But it must be very dangerous!”
“It was our friend alone who found it so to-day. We will show you
to-morrow his coat of reindeer skin. The way in which the claws of the
bear have turned this excellent shield into a kind of lace, will show
you that he was in very close quarters with the enemy.”
“But it is madness to expose yourself so,” cried Margaret. “Nothing in
the world would induce me to witness such a spectacle!”
“And what is the name of this Meleager?” inquired Olga; “will you not
satisfy our curiosity?”
“Confess,” said the major, “that you have not tried very hard to guess
it.”
“Yes, indeed; but the best hunters at the chateau--all I should have
thought capable of such feats--are here, and you say that your hero is
not present?”
“You have forgotten some one who was at the chateau only last evening,”
rejoined the lieutenant.
“I have tried in vain to think,” replied Olga; “I give it up, unless,
indeed, it should be the black mask, the man of mystery, the learned
buffoon, Christian Waldo--”
“Well, and why not?” said the major, glancing stealthily at Margaret,
who had blushed deeply.
“Was it he?” she cried, with unaffected eagerness.
“_Mon Dieu!_” said the young Russian, but more through thoughtlessness
than malice, for she was not bad-hearted. “One would say, my dear
child, that you are very much interested in knowing--”
“You know,” observed good Mademoiselle Potin, opportunely, “that
Countess Margaret is afraid of Christian Waldo.”
“Afraid of him?” said the major, in surprise.
“Why, certainly,” replied the governess, “and I confess that I am a
little in the same case. A mask always frightens me.”
“But you have never even seen Christian’s mask.”
“Oh, that only makes it the more alarming,” she answered, laughing. “We
are only really afraid of what we have never seen. All the stories that
are told of this witty comedian are so strange! And his death’s head,
that they talk about! We have heard enough about him to make one dream
all night, and tremble at hearing his name!”
“Well,” said the major, “do not tremble any more, ladies; we have seen
the face of Christian Waldo all day long, and in spite of what the
baron said last night, his pretended death’s head is the head of a
young Antinous. Isn’t it true, lieutenant, that he is the handsomest
young man you ever saw?”
“As handsome as he is amiable, educated, and brave,” replied the
lieutenant.
And even Corporal Duff, who was outside smoking his pipe, and listening
to the conversation, now raised his voice as if in spite of himself, to
praise the cordiality, nobility, and modesty of Christian Waldo.
Margaret asked no questions, and did not even venture to make any
mental comments upon what she had heard; but while apparently fully
occupied in fastening her pelisse, for they had risen to go, she did
not lose a word of the praises bestowed upon her friend of the previous
evening.
“How is it?” said Olga, who was also preparing for their departure,
“that an educated and distinguished man can consent to follow a
calling, I will not say disgraceful, but certainly frivolous, and
which, after all, will not be likely to make him rich?”
“He don’t make a business of his present occupation,” replied the
major, eagerly; “he follows it merely as an amusement.”
“Oh, excuse me, he is paid for his entertainments.”
“Well, and so are we soldiers paid for serving the state. Are not our
estates and revenues the salary we receive for our services?”
“There is a difference between a salary and wages,” said Margaret, with
gentle melancholy; “but it begins to be cold: shall we not go? I don’t
think it will be dangerous now on the lake.”
The major saw, or thought he saw, that Margaret was anxious to have a
talk with him; he offered her his arm, therefore, to her sleigh, and
begged Mademoiselle Potin to allow him to have a seat with them in
returning to the chateau. With a few brief words he gave the lieutenant
to understand that he would like to have Olga return in another sleigh
with himself and Martina Akerstrom; and the good lieutenant, without
troubling himself about the reason of the major’s request, which he
obeyed as if it had been a military order, offered his services to his
fiancée and the young Russian.
Thanks to this arrangement, Osmund was at full liberty to espouse
Christian Waldo’s cause warmly, and to try and change the bad opinion
which Margaret and Mademoiselle Potin, her discreet confidante, seemed
to have formed of him. To succeed in this, he had only to repeat his
conversation with Waldo, and inform them of his generous and eccentric
determination to endure the greatest poverty and suffering, rather
than continue his adventurous career, of which he himself disapproved.
Margaret listened with apparent tranquillity, as if she had been
called upon to express her approbation of some case in which she had
no personal interest. However, she was not a skilful actress, and the
major, who had sufficient delicacy to adopt the same tone as herself,
was not deceived as to the interest with which she really regarded his
friend in her secret soul.
In the meanwhile Baron Olaus had been laid upon his bed, where he
appeared calm. The physician, as usual, eluded the questions of his
heirs. They all soon knew that their _dear and respectable uncle_
had returned from the hunt so feeble that his people had been obliged
to carry him in, undress him, and put him to bed, like a child; but,
according to the physician, he was suffering merely from one of his
customary accidental and temporary attacks. Johan gave orders that the
amusements and games should continue. The comedy of marionettes was
announced for eight o’clock. And as for Doctor Stangstadius, who might
have revealed how ill he really was, he had returned from the hunt
only to ascend into the observatory of the chateau, to study at his
leisure the phenomenon of the dry fog, which he attributed, and perhaps
correctly, to volcanic exhalations proceeding from Lake Wetter.
The only person who was really anxious was Johan. As soon as he was
left alone with his master, though the physician, who had retired to
change his dress and take some food, had implored him to keep the baron
from being disturbed, he resolved to find out what he was to think of
his mental condition.
“Come, my master,” he said, with his customary familiarity, a privilege
granted to him alone, which he was never afraid of abusing, and for
very sufficient reasons; “are we really dead this time? Haven’t you a
single smile for your old Johan? one of those sweet little smiles that
mean, ‘I bid defiance to disease, and I mean to bury all the fools who
would like to see me go to the devil’?”
The baron tried in vain to gratify him; the victorious smile which he
attempted to summon to his countenance proved a melancholy grimace,
accompanied by a deep sigh.
“Anyhow, you understand me?” resumed Johan; “that is something.”
“Yes,” replied the baron, in a feeble voice; “but I am very ill this
time! That ass of a doctor--”
And he tried to show his arm.
“He bled you?” said Johan. “He says that it saved your life; let us
hope so: but you must exert your will; you know perfectly well that
that it is your only remedy. Your will performs miracles!”
“I have none left.”
“No will? Nonsense! When you say that, it always means that you are
very determined indeed about something; and I can tell you what you
want now--that these two or _three_ Italians--”
“Yes, yes, all of them,” rejoined the baron, with a gleam of energy.
“There, now!” resumed Johan, “I knew I could bring you round! Did you
see the proof?--”
“It is unanswerable.”
“Stenson’s writing?”
“And his signature--all the details! It is strange--strange! but it is
true.”
“But where have you put it, in the name of heaven?”
“In the pocket of my hunting-dress.”
“I cannot find it.”
“You have not looked carefully. It is there. No matter! Listen: I am
overcome with fatigue--Stenson in the tower!”
“At once?”
“No, during the comedy.”
“And the others?”
“Afterwards.”
“In the tower also?”
“Yes; some excuse.”
“That is easy. A silver plate slipped into the baggage of these
jugglers. They will have stolen it.”
“Good!”
“But if their suspicions are awakened? If the true and false Christian
do not come?”
“Where are they?”
“Who can find out in this fog? I have given orders; but an hour ago no
one had returned to Stollborg, which is watched and surrounded on all
sides.”
“In that case, what will you do?”
“The proof--that is the portfolio--destroyed, and the man who gave it
up to you dead, his secret is dead too, since Christian Waldo does not
know anything about it.”
“Is that quite certain?”
“When we get hold of him we will make him confess.”
“But he is not in our hands yet.”
“Perhaps, by this time--I will go myself to Stollborg, and find out.”
“Go quickly!--But if he should refuse to come to the chateau this
evening?”
“Then Captain Chimère will go over there with--”
“Very good! and the lawyer?--”
“I will tell him beforehand that you send for him. However--we must be
ready for anything; if he refuses to obey?--”
“That will be the proof--”
“That he has an understanding with your enemies. And then?--”
“So much the worse for him.”
“That is serious--such a well-known man!”
“Do not harm him; keep him out of it.”
“Yes, if possible. No matter, I will try. I will go at once to
Stollborg and slip your gold goblet into the pack-saddle of the ass.
That will be the excuse for seizing the jugglers, even if we have to go
there to catch them. But there may be some disturbance. Christian is a
fighting man, and Stollborg is very near.”
“So much the better; they will silence him the sooner.”
“The major and the lieutenant have taken a great liking to this
mountebank. We must be careful, and choose the right moment. I have
ordered all the brass instruments in the chateau to be kept playing,
and outside they are sending off rockets and fireworks every moment.”
“Well thought of!”
“How do you feel now?”
“Better; I think I can even recall--wait, Johan--that face--I dreamed
about it again to-day. When was it? Wait, I say! Was it a dream?
Destruction! I cannot, Johan, my head refuses--my brain is confused, as
it was yesterday.”
“Well then, don’t torment yourself; I will find out all about it
myself; it is my affair. Come, be quiet! you will come out victorious,
as you always do. I will send Jacob to you.”
Johan went out. The baron, exhausted by the effort he had made, fainted
in Jacob’s arms, and the physician, hastily recalled, had a great deal
of difficulty in bringing him to his senses. Then the patient recovered
a feverish energy.
“Off with you, doctor!” he cried; “I am tired of your face! You are
ugly! every one is ugly! He is beautiful--_beautiful_, if they
speak the truth; but that will not help him any. When one is dead he
soon becomes hideous, does he not? Still, if I should die before him,
I should like to leave him my fortune--that would be droll! But if I
live, he must die; nothing shall save him. Say, then, doctor, do you
think I am crazy?”
The baron, after raving in this way for a few moments, fell into a
restless, feverish sleep. It was then six o’clock in the evening,
and the company at the chateau were just sitting down to the
_aftonward_, the light repast which precedes supper.
We are really grieved at being obliged to try the reader’s patience
with so many meals, but we should not be true to facts if we should
suppress a single one of them. We are forced to remind him that it is
the custom of the country to eat every two hours, and that a century
ago no one thought of deviating from it, especially in the country, and
in winter. Pretty women lost nothing of their poetry in the eyes of
their admirers by having an excellent appetite. It was not the fashion
to be pale and hollow-eyed. The fresh and brilliant complexions of
the beautiful Swedes did not rob them of their empire over heart and
imagination, and though not at all sentimental, the young people of
both sexes were really very romantic. The little Margaret, accordingly,
and the tall Olga, the blonde Martina, and several other nymphs of
these frozen lakes, after having taken coffee in the grotto of the
hogar, ate their cream and cheese in the great gilded saloon of the
chateau, each dreaming about love in her own way, and all of them
happily unconscious that fasting could be considered a necessary
condition of sentiment.
There were no longer so many guests at the new chateau as there had
been during the first few days of the Christmas holidays. Several
mothers had carried away their daughters, when they found that Baron
Olaus paid them no attention. The diplomats of both sexes, who had an
interest in keeping up their relations with him, and his presumptive
heirs--whom the baron was in the habit of calling, when he joked about
them in French, his _presumptuous_ heirs--remained, in spite
of the gloom that he shed around him. Countess Elveda was very much
irritated at not being able to come to any understanding with her
mysterious host; but she consoled herself by flirting with the Russian
ambassador. The mornings and afternoons were occupied by the elderly
ladies in making and receiving visits in their respective apartments,
with a great deal of ceremony and solemnity. On such occasions, they
always conversed about the same subjects: the beautiful winter weather,
the magnificent hospitality of their host, his remarkable wit--perhaps
a little severe--his indisposition, and the wonderful courage with
which he bore it, so as not to interfere with the enjoyment of his
guests; and, as they conversed thus, they stifled Homeric yawns. And
then they talked politics, and argued with great bitterness, which did
not prevent them from discoursing about religious topics in an edifying
manner. For the most part they entertained the persons who had just
come in, by saying all the evil possible of those who had just gone out.
The young people were the only ones who contrived to throw off the
moral coldness and gloom which seemed to permeate the very atmosphere.
There were about a score of them, of both sexes, who, with or without
the consent of their families, had formed attachments among themselves,
of a more or less tender character, and who, meeting freely, as
they did every hour of the day, acted as each other’s chaperons and
confidantes. With this happy group were associated some few persons
who, though older, were nevertheless benevolent and cheerful;
governesses, of whom Mademoiselle Potin was one, the pastor’s family,
who were always very highly considered, and courted in all country
festivities, several old country gentlemen, plain and simple-hearted,
the baron’s young physician, when he could escape from the claws of
his tyrannical and cunning patient; and, best of all, the illustrious
Stangstadius, whenever they could get hold of him, and contrive to
keep him with them by paying him--for their own amusement--the most
extravagant compliments, the sincerity of which he never doubted, even
when they referred to the charms of his person.
The collation of the _aftonward_ was as gay to-day as ever, even
although the geologist did not make his appearance. The young folks--as
the matrons called them--did not even notice the anxious and agitated
faces of the servants, who were not quite so blind to the real state of
their master’s health, as they would have liked to persuade those among
them whose business it was to act as spies upon the others.
After the collation, they declared that they had heard enough about
the feats of the hunters, and Martina proposed that they should play
hide-and-seek, a game that they had enjoyed very much the evening
before, partly, perhaps, because they had to go to a different part of
the chateau to play it. Instinctively, they avoided a certain isolated
pavilion occupied by the master of the house, and perhaps, without
openly admitting it, they were not sorry to have an excuse--that of
not disturbing the host--for avoiding as well the stately apartments
occupied by their parents and relatives. In the upper story of the
outer circle of buildings, which was connected by numerous passages
with the lower rooms--the latter were used for various domestic
purposes, as wine-cellars, bleaching-rooms, etc.--there were a number
of long, gloomy, and almost deserted galleries, where they had plenty
of room to look for each other, and plenty of dark corners to hide in.
They drew lots for the different parties, and Margaret found herself
with Martina and her fiancée, the lieutenant.