M. GOEFLE had scarcely had time to lay his valet-de-chambre on his bed,
when he called Christian.
“Listen!” he said to him; “it is through this room that they are
coming. They are knocking at the door.”
“Who goes there?” said Christian, loading his gun and taking his stand
before the door of the guard-room, which opened, the reader will
remember, on the gallery that surrounded the court.
“Open, open--it is we!” replied a rough voice, in Dalecarlian.
“Who?” said M. Goefle.
There was no reply, and Christian added:
“Are you afraid to give your names?”
“Is it you, Monsieur Waldo?” said a sweet and trembling voice in reply.
“Margaret!” cried Christian, and throwing open the door, he perceived
the young countess, and another young lady whom he had seen at the
ball, but whose name he had forgotten, escorted by the faithful
Peterson.
“Where are they?” asked Margaret, falling breathless, and almost
fainting, upon a chair.
“Who? Of whom are you speaking?” he asked, terrified at her paleness
and emotion.
“Major Larrson, the lieutenant, and the other officers,” replied the
other young girl, who was quite as much out of breath, and not less
agitated than Margaret. “Have they not come?”
“No--were they to have come here?”
“They started from the chateau more than two hours ago.”
“And--you are afraid some accident has happened to them?”
“Yes,” replied Martina Akerstrom, for it was she; “we are afraid--I
don’t know what we were afraid of for them, since they started
altogether; but--”
“But for whom then were you afraid?” said M. Goefle.
“For you, M. Goefle, for you!” replied Margaret, eagerly. “We have
discovered that you are in great danger here. Did you not suspect it?
Yes, yes, for I see that you are armed. Have they come? Have you been
attacked?”
“Not yet,” replied M. Goefle. “Is it certain, then, that we are to be
attacked?”
“Oh! we are only too sure of it!”
“What! they threaten me also--me?” replied M. Goefle, with the most
perfect simplicity and good faith. “Speak, dear young lady--are you
quite sure? This is really very strange!”
“I am not sure as to the latter point,” said Margaret, whose paleness
was suddenly dissipated by a vivid blush, but who avoided meeting
Christian’s eyes.
“Then,” said M. Goefle, without seeming to observe the young girl’s
embarrassment, “it is he--he alone that they have designs against?”
And he pointed to Christian, whom Margaret persisted in refusing to see
or to name, which did not prevent her from replying:
“Yes, yes, it is he, Monsieur Goefle; they want to kill him.”
“And the major and his friends know this also? How is it that they have
not come?”
“They are perfectly sure of it,” said Martina, “and if they have not
arrived, it is because they have had the same luck that we had; they
have got lost in the fog, which is constantly increasing.”
“You have been lost in the fog?” said Christian, deeply moved by
Margaret’s generous solicitude.
“Oh, only for a little while,” she answered. “Peterson belongs to
the country, and he soon found the road; but the gentlemen must have
mistaken one shore of the lake for the other.”
“Place a light in the window of the bear-room,” said M. Goefle; “it
will serve to guide them.”
“No, no,” said Peterson, “they will not see it any more than they see
the stars.”
“No matter, try it, at any rate,” said Martina.
“No, my dear friend,” replied Margaret; “the assassins are probably
lost also, since they have not come. We will not help them to find
their way before the officers--”
“We shall be very glad to welcome the officers, most surely,” rejoined
M. Goefle; “but at present there are three of us, and all well armed;
I know Peterson, he is a strong ally--and then, my dear young ladies,
is it not possible that there is some error here? Have you not mistaken
mere inquisitive rogues for assassins? Where did you see them?”
“Tell them, Martina, tell them what we heard!” said Margaret.
“Yes, yes, Monsieur Goefle, listen,” resumed Martina, assuming,
artlessly, a pretty little air of importance. “Two hours ago--or two
hours and a half, perhaps--we young folks, as they call us over at the
chateau, were playing hide-and-seek in the outer buildings of the new
chateau. I was with Margaret and the lieutenant. We had drawn lots for
the different parties, and then we should have been afraid, we two
young girls, to go all alone into gloomy galleries and dark rooms where
we had never been; we were obliged to have a cavalier to accompany us!
The lieutenant did not know much more about this part of the chateau
than we did ourselves; it is so large! Well, we crossed a long,
deserted gallery, and went down a little staircase, that was nearly
dark. The lieutenant was leading the way, and as there were no corners
or passages anywhere around that would be good for hiding, we went
straight on, until we could scarcely see at all, and began to be afraid
we should fall down some precipice, and then, at last, he stopped.
“‘I begin to recognize the locality now,’ he said; ‘we have come to the
great tower, which is used as a prison. There can be no prisoners in
it, for the door is open. If we go down into the cells below, I answer
for it that they will have some trouble in finding us there.’
“With that he was going down, but the idea of burying ourselves in
those subterranean dungeons, which are said to be so gloomy and
terrible, frightened Margaret, and she begged him to stop.
“‘No, no,’ she said; ‘don’t go any further; stay at the entrance. Here
is a recess in the wall, almost built up; let us go in there, and don’t
talk, for you know there are spies in this game, whose duty it is to
wander about and listen, so as to tell the others where we are.’
“We did as Margaret wished; but scarcely were we in our hiding-place
when we heard some one coming; and, thinking they were already on
our track, we repressed our laughter, and scarcely even ventured to
breathe. Then we heard the very words that I am going to repeat to you.
They were spoken by two men who came out of the tower, and went through
the long gallery that had brought us there. They were talking low, but
they stopped for a few moments at the door of the tower, to have an
explanation, and this is what they said:
“‘Are you going to put me with the party detailed to guard the Italian
again? I am tired of that sort of service.’
“‘No, you are to come with us to the old chateau. The Italian is one of
ourselves, at present!’
“‘So; and what is to be done over there?’
“I cannot tell you what the other said, for we did not understand it.
It was slang talk, it seems, such as robbers use; but they repeated the
name of Christian Waldo several times, and they spoke, also, of the
lawyer.
“‘The lawyer,’ one said, ‘oh, he will be of no account. A lawyer always
runs away.’”
“That remains to be seen!” cried M. Goefle. “And what then?”
“And then they said something about an ass, and a gold goblet,
and a quarrel they were to engage in; it was all more and more
incomprehensible. Finally, the two men, who had stopped just before us,
as I told you, concluded their arrangements, and went away.
“‘The rendezvous is at eight o’clock, on the lake,’ said one, just as
they started.
“‘But suppose he does not come?’ said the other.
“‘In that case we will go on to Stollborg. We shall receive orders.’
“As soon as the two rascals had gone, the lieutenant made us come out
of our hiding-place, and said, in a whisper:
“‘Not a word here!’
“He led us back cautiously to the great hunting-gallery, and then said:
“‘Allow me to leave you, and to go in search of the major.’
“The lieutenant had understood the slang of these brigands; they were
to accuse M. Christian Waldo of having stolen something, and to attack
him, to carry him to the tower, and to kill him if he should defend
himself; and they had added:
“‘And that would be the best of all!’
“The lieutenant was indignant. He said, when he left us:
“‘The real mover in this business is perhaps of higher rank than we
suppose. Politics is at the bottom of it. Christian Waldo must have
some state secret.’”
“I give you my word that I have not,” replied Christian, who could not
help smiling at the lieutenant’s simplicity.
“I do not ask you, Monsieur Christian,” replied the good and ingenuous
Martina; “but I know that the lieutenant, the major, and Corporal
Duff, swore that they would do their duty, and protect you, even if
this should prove a signal offence to his lordship the baron. However,
they thought the greatest prudence would be necessary, and they urged
us to keep the whole matter a profound secret. They started on foot,
well armed, and as quietly as possible, for they wanted to take the
assassins by surprise, and get possession of their secret.
“‘Go on with the game,’ they said, ‘and try and prevent the others from
observing our absence.’
“In fact, Margaret and I pretended to keep on playing, until the time
came to separate and go and make our toilets for the evening; but,
instead of thinking of dressing ourselves, we could think of nothing
but of looking out of the window of my room, so as to try and see what
was passing on the lake. But the fog was so thick that it was quite
impossible. We could not even distinguish where Stollborg was. And
then we listened with all our ears, for sometimes in these thick fogs
you can hear the slightest sounds with perfect distinctness. But they
were making such a tumult in the chateau, and outside the moat, with
their fanfares and fireworks, that it seemed as if they were doing it
on purpose, so as to prevent the noise of a quarrel or fight from being
heard. And so the time passed; and then suddenly Margaret began to be
frightened--”
“And you also, dear Martina,” said Margaret, in some confusion.
“It was you, dear friend, who made me so,” said the fiancée of the
lieutenant, frankly. “At last, like two mad creatures, we started off
with Peterson, persuaded that we should meet the major and his friends,
and that they would restore our courage. We thought, too, as Peterson
knows the country perfectly, and scarcely ever makes a mistake, that
we should be able to guide them to the old chateau, if they had lost
their way. We came on foot, and did not go much astray, except that
we arrived at the side of the _gaard_, instead of succeeding in
coming straight to the court. But Peterson said:
“‘It is the same thing; we can go in this way just as well.’
“And, in fact, here we are, without well knowing how we got here. But
in all this time we have not met a single person; and now that we
are a little more tranquil about you, I think we have reason to feel
seriously uneasy about the major, and the other officers.”
“Ah, Margaret!” said Christian, in a low voice, to the young countess,
while M. Goefle, Martina, and Peterson consulted together to see what
had best be done, “you came thus--”
“Ought I,” she replied, “to have allowed such a man as M. Goefle to be
assassinated without trying to bring him assistance?”
“No, certainly,” replied Christian, who was too deeply and sincerely
grateful to offend her delicacy, even by expressing his gratitude too
warmly: “far otherwise; but your courage was none the less sublime. You
might have met these bandits. Very few women would have carried their
devotion, their humanity, so far as to have come themselves--”
“Martina came with me,” rejoined Margaret, eagerly.
“Martina is engaged to the lieutenant,” said Christian; “she would
not, perhaps, have been willing to do so out of consideration--for M.
Goefle.”
“I ask your pardon, Monsieur Christian, she would have come to help
any one, no matter who, the moment that the life of a human being was
at stake. But do not think of that now; can’t you learn whether these
gentlemen are coming? for, when all is said, I cannot see that the
danger is over.”
“No, in fact,” said Christian, collecting his ideas, “we are actually
in danger. It is worth thinking about, now that you are here. My God!
why did you come?”
And the young man, torn by conflicting emotions, was at the same time
delighted because she had come, and tormented by the thought that she
would, perhaps, be exposed to some terrible scene. Besides, would
not the presence of these two young girls in Stollborg aggravate the
difficulties of their situation in another respect? Might it not serve
as the exact pretext that was wanting for an open invasion? Although
Countess Elveda was a careless and heartless guardian, it was quite
possible that she would notice her niece’s absence, if she had not
already done so; that she would have her sought for, followed. Who
could say?
“One thing is certain,” said Christian, “and that is that she must not
be seen here.”
He thought of conducting her and her companion to Stenson’s
_gaard_, where no one would have thought of looking for them; but
the enemy, perhaps, were using Stenson’s dwelling, at this very moment,
as a post of observation. In the midst of all these perplexities,
Christian, who replied in a very distracted manner to M. Goefle’s
agitated questions, formed a resolution that he did not impart to any
one; this was to quit the apartment, and face the dangers by which he
alone was threatened, either in the passages of the old chateau, or on
the lake. For this purpose he provided himself with a lantern, so as
to make as much show as possible in the fog, and went out without a
word. He hoped that M. Goefle would not notice his absence immediately;
but he had scarcely crossed the threshold of the door when Margaret
started up, crying:
“Where are you going?”
“Yes, where are you going, Christian?” cried M. Goefle, hurrying after
him. “Do not go out alone!”
“I am not going out,” answered Christian, slipping rapidly out of the
bear-room; “I am going to see whether the second door, that opening on
the court, is fastened.”
“What is he doing?” said Margaret to M. Goefle; “are you not afraid?--”
“No, no,” answered the lawyer; “he promised to be prudent.”
“But I hear him drawing the bolts of the second door; he is opening
them!”
“He is opening them? Oh, then, our friends have come!”
“No, no! he is going out. I am certain of it!”
And Margaret started up involuntarily, as if to follow Christian.
M. Goefle stopped her, and, making a sign to Peterson not to leave
the women, he tried to pursue him himself. But Christian had already
fastened the outer door, so as to prevent this very thing, and was
running towards the main entrance of the court, calling Larrson in a
loud voice, and holding himself on guard, in case he should be attacked
by the assassins. Suddenly a ball, aimed at him, struck the lantern
he was holding out of his hand, and left him enveloped in the white
darkness, which the light of the moon could not penetrate, and which
was clinging like a shroud to the earth.
At the sound of the pistol-shot a terrible oath escaped M. Goefle,
who was excessively alarmed about his young friend: Martina uttered a
cry; Margaret sank into a chair, and Peterson ran up to the lawyer. By
their united efforts they might have succeeded in opening the door, but
they did not understand each other. Peterson, who was devoted to his
young mistress, was thinking only of preventing the malefactors from
entering, and did not suspect that M. Goefle, on the contrary, wanted
it thrown open, so as to fly to Christian’s assistance.
During the delay caused by this misunderstanding, the good lawyer swore
roundly, while Christian, delighted at being free to act at last,
rushed upon one of the brigands, the first he found in his path. The
latter fled--deceived by the fog, he had not supposed him so near, and
Christian pursued him, with shouts of insult and defiance, while he, in
his turn, was followed, swiftly and silently, by another of the party.
He heard the assassin’s steps, plainly audible on the crisp, hard snow,
behind him; and, through the ringing in his ears--for he was in a great
rage, and the blood was coursing through his veins at a tremendous
rate--it seemed to him that he could hear other steps and other voices
approaching from the right and left. He could not doubt that he was
surrounded, and, without losing his presence of mind, he rushed after
his first assailant with more fury than ever, with the idea that it
would not do to turn until he had disposed of him, since he might
attack him from behind, while he was facing the others. Besides, he
did not lose sight of his resolution to remove the struggle as far as
possible from Stollborg.
He descended in this way the steep declivity leading to the lake,
whose rapid descent, alone, indicated to him the direction in which he
was going, for he could see nothing. But, just as he stepped upon the
smooth, hard ice of the lake, there were several reports behind him,
balls whistled close to his ear, and the man he was pursuing fell at
two steps before him. Either the fugitive had been mistaken for him
by his accomplices, or the latter had fired upon them both at random,
thinking, perhaps, that their companion deserved to be shot, for having
taken flight.
The man who had just been struck was Massarelli; at the moment that
Christian strode over him he was uttering a last groan of agony, and
he recognized his voice. He ran on, so as to gain time and make the
most of his position, while the assassins collected about Massarelli,
or, at least, stopped to look at him, so as to see who they had killed.
Pausing to listen, he heard these words:
“Let him lie; that is all right!”
What did that mean? Had the assassins mistaken Massarelli for their
proposed victim, and were they going to withdraw? or had they
recognized their mistake, and would they continue to pursue him? By
making rapid zigzags in the ice, he hoped to get rid of them, one by
one, and he tried to make out, from their steps and voices, how many
he had to contend with. He had, without thinking, kept on the soleless
and seamless felt boots which had been lent him in the morning for the
hunt, and this afforded him an immense advantage. Perfectly supple,
he could move about in them as freely as if his feet were bare; and,
besides, they made scarcely any sound upon the ice, while he could
hear every step of his companions, who were not so well shod for the
occasion.
He listened once more. They were approaching him, but they did not see
him, and seemed uncertain. Not ten steps off he heard these brief words:
“Hé! It is I.”
Since they were meeting, unexpectedly, in the fog, they must have
got separated. From that moment, nothing would have been easier than
to escape them. Christian did not even think of such a thing. He was
furious; and he wanted, moreover, to prevent the scoundrels from
returning to seek him at Stollborg. He called to them in a loud voice,
naming himself, and defying them, drawing back scarcely at all, but
tacking about, so as to irritate and draw them asunder. His hope was
to come up with one of them without allowing himself to be surrounded
by all, and he had his wits about him so completely that he succeeded,
before long, in counting them. There were three of them still;
Massarelli had made the fourth.
In spite of his astonishing self-possession, Christian was tremendously
excited, and, mingling with his other emotions, he was conscious of
a wild, fierce delight, like the intoxication of gratified vengeance.
So strong was this feeling, that he felt almost disappointed when he
heard still other steps behind him, steps as soft as his own, which
he at once recognized as those of his companions, who were shod, like
himself, in felt boots. He was afraid that the bandits would make their
escape without fighting. He ran to meet his friends, and whispered,
quickly:
“There they are, three of them; we must take them prisoners! Follow me,
and silence!”
Turning instantly, he advanced in a straight line upon the enemy, and
stopping near where he supposed them to be, shouted out his name again,
and mocked and jeered at them for their awkwardness and cowardice.
Just then one of the bandits wounded him in the arm with a dagger, and
fell at his feet, stunned and suffocated by a blow which Christian
gave him full in the breast, with the handle of his Norwegian knife.
Christian was only slightly wounded, thanks to his reindeer-skin coat;
and he thanked heaven for having enabled him to resist his desire of
serving the bandit as he had done the bear on the mountain. It was very
important to capture one, at least, of the baron’s bravos, living. The
two others, concluding that all was lost with the loss of their chief,
ran up to each other, but only to exchange a slang confession of defeat
and flight--a despairing _sauve qui peut_; but they did not take
into account the major and the lieutenant, who were watching them, and
who seized one, while only the third escaped.
“For the love of Heaven! are you wounded, Waldo?” said the major, while
Christian assisted him to disarm the bandits.
“No, no!” replied Christian, who would not have felt his wound at all,
but for the warmth of the blood that filled his sleeve. “Have you any
cords?”
“Yes, certainly; enough to hang them all, if we had the right. We had
fully resolved to make these fine gentlemen prisoners. But if you are
not too much out of breath, Christian, give a blast on this trumpet, to
try and bring up our other friends, whom we have been waiting for and
seeking for the last hour. Stay, here is the instrument.”
“We had better fire off our guns,” said Christian.
“No, no, there has been plenty of firing already. Blow the trumpet, I
tell you!”
Christian did as he was requested, but the corporal was the only person
who joined them.
“You see,” said the major to Christian, “our promenade must have the
appearance of a chance excursion, during which we have been lost, and
have been looking for each other.”
“I do not understand you.”
“It must be so, I tell you, for a few hours, so that the baron may not
suspect the issue of the affair too soon, and send against you the
other rogues, whom, no doubt, he has in reserve. As for him,” he added,
in a low voice, “his turn will come, do not fear!”
“His turn has already come,” replied Christian; “I will take charge of
that.”
“Softly, softly, my dear friend! You have no authority to act in this
matter. That is my business; and now that we have a certainty, now that
we have proofs, I am fully resolved to take rigorous measures. However,
we cannot proceed against a noble, and a member of the Diet, without
orders from higher quarters; but do not doubt that we will obtain them.
What you have to do for the moment, my dear friend, is to obey me; for
I call upon you in the name of the laws, and in the name of honor, to
lend me such assistance as I may require, according to the orders that
I may give you.”
M. Goefle now ran forward, with his head bare, a torch in one hand
and a sword in the other. He had got out through the door of the
guard-room, after persuading the two young girls--but not without
difficulty, for they were both of them alike fearless for themselves,
and solicitous about the absent--to remain shut up in the bear-room
under Peterson’s protection.
“Christian! Christian!” he cried, “is this the way that you keep your
word?”
“I forgot everything, Monsieur Goefle,” replied Christian, in a low
voice; “it was too strong for me. How could I wait there until they
came to break down the doors and fire upon the women? But no matter, we
are victorious; return to Margaret, and reassure her.”
“Yes, I will go at once,” replied the lawyer, sneezing, “especially as
I am catching a frightful cold; I hope,” he added aloud, “that these
gentlemen are coming to see us.”
“Yes, certainly, that was the agreement,” replied the major; “but we
must first attend to our duties.”
M. Goefle went to reassure the ladies, and the other men proceeded to
have Massarelli’s corpse removed. They obliged the two prisoners to
carry it to one of the cellars of the _gaard_, keeping them within
range of their pistols, in case they should show any disposition to
take flight. The prisoners were then firmly bound, and conducted to
Stenson’s kitchen, where the lieutenant and corporal made a fire, and
installed themselves, to keep them in sight, while the major prepared
to examine them in Christian’s presence.
Christian lost all patience at seeing them proceeding so regularly
in an affair which the major seemed to understand better than he
did himself. However, the major explained to him that with such an
adversary as the baron, it was not so easy as he thought to prove even
an obvious and recognized fact.
“And then,” he added, “I regret to see that we are somewhat deficient
in witnesses. M. Goefle only saw the conclusion of the affair. We find
here neither M. Stenson, nor his nephew, nor your servant. I hoped that
we should be in greater force to defend you, and to prove the facts
_de visu_. The adjutant and the four soldiers whom I have sent
for, have not yet appeared. Though our bostoelles and the torps of the
soldiers are very near, the fog is so thick that several hours may pass
before we have eight men here under arms.”
“But what need of eight men to guard two?”
“Do you suppose, Christian, that the baron is going to remain quiet,
when, for the first time, one of his diabolical combinations has
failed? I do not know what he will resolve upon, but you may be very
sure that he will make an attempt of some kind, even if he should try
to burn down Stollborg. That is why I have resolved to pass the night
here, so as to be in position, with the help of my soldiers, to seize
the other bandits, who will probably arrive before long, either with
offers of service, or otherwise. The greater number of the baron’s
foreign footmen are nothing more than a band of thieves and assassins,
and we must try and seize them all in some flagrant misdemeanor. Then
I can guarantee that the magistracy will venture to pursue rigorously
this powerful noble, and that he will be left without resources,
since his peasants hate him too much to offer him any assistance. If
we proceed in any other way, you may be sure that we should be the
losing party. The baron would deny having had any responsibility in
the matter, or would find means to effect the escape of our prisoners.
You would pass for an assassin, and we should pass for visionaries, or
at least for young officers without experience, taking the part of a
guilty man and arresting honest people; for you can rely upon it that
these two bravos are well trained. I am going to examine them, and you
will see that they know how to tell their story. I wager that they have
learned their lesson, and know it by heart.”
In fact, the two bandits replied impudently that they had come by order
of the baron to conduct the man with the marionettes, who was late
with his performance, to the chateau; that the latter seeing among
them one of his old comrades, against whom he had a grudge, rushed in
pursuit of him, and killed him. He had then insulted and challenged the
others, and the one who had wounded Christian declared that he had done
so by mistake, while trying to seize a furious madman. “So furious,”
he added, “that he has broken my breast-bone, and that I am spitting
blood.”
“You see,” said Christian to the major, “that I failed in my duty
towards these gentlemen, in not allowing myself to be assassinated.”
“And you will see,” replied Larrson, “that the assassins will escape
the gallows! According to our laws, capital punishment can only be
inflicted upon criminals who confess. These fellows know this well, and
however absurd their defence may be, they will stick to it. Your cause,
perhaps, will not be as good as theirs. This makes it necessary for us
to be doubly on our guard, for do not doubt, Christian, that we shall
remain with you, and stand by you through it all.”
“Oh, Christian has a very good cause!” said M. Goefle, who had come
to listen to the examination, and who, now that it was concluded, was
conducting his guests to his apartment, which he called his bear-manor.
“We should have plenty of weapons against the baron if we could succeed
in freeing old Stenson, who has been carried, whether he would or not,
to the chateau. You must help us, gentlemen, to accomplish it.”
“That would be quite out of my power, M. Goefle,” said the major.
“The chatelain is judge on his own domain, and consequently in his
own house. I do not know what M. Stenson’s case can have in common
with Christian’s, but my advice is not to complicate this affair with
any other. Above all things, I should like to know whether Christian
has chanced to find a gold goblet in his ass’s pack-saddle, which the
baron--like Joseph of old, wishing to try his brothers, but, I presume,
with much less pacific intentions--ordered to be placed there.”
“Upon my word,” said Christian, “I don’t know anything about it; let us
go and see.”
They went to the stable, where they found Puffo, pale and trembling, in
a corner. They searched him, and found the goblet about him. He begged
for mercy, and confessed after his fashion. An hour before he had
seen Master Johan, he said, bring this precious object there, and had
guessed what his design was. Not supposing that he was watched, he had
resolved to take it, so as to carry it back to the chateau and prevent
his master from being accused of a theft of which he was innocent; but
when he tried to go out, he found that the stable-door was fastened,
and in spite of all his efforts he had been unable to open it; which
was the reason that he had not gone to his master’s assistance during
the combat. In consequence of these very suspicious statements, the
major ordered Puffo to be bound like the rest, and conducted to the
_gaard_, where Peterson, summoned to lend assistance, had taken
the place of the officers in watching the three prisoners. The gold
goblet was taken in triumph by M. Goefle, and placed upon the table of
the bear-room.
Meanwhile, Martina Akerstrom ran to meet her betrothed, without the
slightest fear of what people would say, and without being the least
embarrassed by the presence of the major and the corporal. The good and
simple-hearted child, who was making tea for “those poor gentlemen, who
must be so cold,” had now only two causes of anxiety: the uneasiness
that her absence might be occasioning her parents, and the want of
sugar for her tea. She requested to have some one sent to the new
chateau to reassure the authors of her being, and to bring back some
sugar.
Nils, who had been waked up by the noise around him, and who was very
much delighted at beholding so much fine company, was able to gratify
good Martina as to the latter point, for the child had an excellent
reason for knowing where the sugar was to be found which Ulphilas had
brought in the morning; but it was not so easy to comply with her first
request. They had no messengers, and the major, besides, was anxious
to take down forthwith Martina’s deposition, together with that of the
lieutenant, in regard to the conversation between the bandits, which
they had overheard two hours before at the entrance to the tower of
the new chateau. As this was the all-important point in the affair,
he required them to repeat the whole conversation with the utmost
accuracy; and, as he wrote down their statement, he expressed his
regret that the third witness, Countess Margaret, was not present, to
add on her signature.
Margaret was in the guard-room, where Christian, who had hurried on in
advance for the purpose, had begged her to go, so that she need not be
seen by the young officers, in whose eyes there would not have been the
same excuse for her presence as for Martina’s: the plausible, and, in
Sweden, sacred excuse of having come out of anxiety for the safety of
her betrothed. But the young countess, who was standing close to the
door, heard that her assistance was required, and knowing well that she
need have no fear of being slandered or misjudged by any of the persons
present, all of whom were known to her, threw the door open and came
in. She was eager to swear, as well as the others, that the accusation
of theft which the infamous baron had intended to bring against
Christian, was a conspiracy that had been announced, beforehand, in her
presence; and to sign her name to the statement to this effect.
On seeing her, the major and the lieutenant could not repress an
exclamation of surprise, but M. Goefle, with his usual presence of
mind, undertook to explain everything.
Mademoiselle Akerstrom could not have come alone, he said. She had no
one to accompany her, and the officers had charged her so strictly to
keep perfectly silent as to the affair, that she could not venture to
take any other escort than the servant of Countess Margaret, who was in
the secret as well as herself. Naturally, Countess Margaret had wished
to accompany her friend, whom Peterson otherwise might have objected
to escorting, on account of the bad weather. M. Goefle, once launched,
brought forward a number of good reasons of a similar character, to
prove how natural it was that she should have come. Martina, with
her primitive simplicity, might, perhaps, have said that he did not
understand what had really happened, and so far was she from suspecting
Margaret’s predilection for Christian, that she would infallibly have
done so, if she had not been absorbed in the all-important duty of
serving tea, and even porridge, with the assistance of Nils; who,
moreover, had discovered in the _gaard_ the dishes intended by
the absent Ulphilas for his uncle’s supper, and that of the guests of
Stollborg. The gloomy bear-room, therefore, presented, for the moment,
a tranquil scene, which formed a wonderful contrast to its previous
aspect; one of those eternal contrasts which nature and destiny are
constantly presenting in every life: now agonies, struggles, dangers;
and the very next moment, a home circle, a repast, conversation.
However, M. Goefle and Martina were the only two of the company who sat
down to their supper. The others swallowed a few mouthfuls standing,
and in great haste, while impatiently awaiting either for new events
to occur, or for a reinforcement which would enable them to form new
resolutions.
It is certain that every person in this singular gathering had cause
for great anxiety. Margaret asked herself whether she would not be
missed and sought after by her aunt, in consequence of the necessary
change in the programme of the evening’s entertainment at the new
chateau, occasioned by the absence of the _burattini_; and whether
Mademoiselle Potin herself would not share her surprise and alarm, on
learning of the continued absence of Martina, with whom she had left
her. Martina did not take the anxiety of her family so much to heart.
Thoroughly practical and unimaginative, she said to herself that the
chateau was very large, that her mother trusted her implicitly, and
being herself very fond of cards, was not in the habit of looking after
her when she went hither and thither, from hall to hall, with her young
companions; and lastly, that the soldiers might arrive at any moment,
when she would be once more at liberty. But when she thought how small
a number of defenders Stollborg had, she felt for the moment very
anxious about her lover, and thought the reinforcement very slow in
arriving.
Christian, in his anxiety for Margaret, scarcely thought about his own
perils. The major was uneasy both for Christian and for himself. He
continually repeated aside to the lieutenant that he did not consider
the affair at all in a proper shape to be brought before a court. The
lieutenant was troubled because the major was so; and as for M. Goefle,
he was greatly alarmed about old Stenson, and his apprehensions about
him led him back to his inward cogitations about Christian’s birth and
destiny.
The situation, in short, was not reassuring for any of them, when at
last they heard a knocking and ringing at the door of the court.
The officer and soldiers they were waiting for had perhaps arrived,
but there was an equal chance that it was a second band of bravos,
despatched by the baron to assist or deliver the first. The major
and the lieutenant loaded their pistols, and rushed out, ordering
Christian, with the legal authority with which they were clothed by
their position, to remain behind them, and make no movement until at
their command. Then Larrson, at the risk of being struck down by the
scoundrels whom he wished to arrest, resolutely opened the door of the
court himself, and, on doing so, recognized with joy his friend the
adjutant, and the four soldiers who lived nearest to his cantonment.
From that moment he was safe. The baron was of course impatient to
learn the issue of his scheme, and on receiving no intelligence in
regard to it, he would not fail to send a new band of his foreign
footmen to discover what had happened, but they would now be prepared
to receive them.
The adjutant made his report, which was brief. He had got lost with
his men, and had only discovered Stollborg by accident at last, after
wandering for a long time in the fog. As far as he could judge, he had
not met any one during the whole time; if this had happened, it had
been without his knowledge.
“However,” he added, “the fog is beginning to lift about the shores
of the lake, and in less than a quarter of an hour it will be quite
possible to make a round. Moreover, as the noise of the fanfares and
fireworks has entirely ceased at the chateau, we can distinguish, now,
the slightest sounds from without.”
“It will be all the easier to make a round,” replied the major, “since
we have with us a man of the country, a certain Peterson, who has the
divining instinct of the peasants, and who, even now, could lead you
anywhere; but wait awhile longer. Stand sentinel at the two outer
gates, in profound silence, and keep well concealed. Close the doors
of the pavilion of the _gaard_. See that the prisoners are well
guarded, and threaten them with death if they speak a word, but let
this be merely a threat. The one dead man on our hands is one too
many; we may be held responsible for his death ourselves.”