Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

If Jean had had the gift of human speech, he would have replied that he had taken a good nap, while confidently awaiting his master’s return, in his hiding-place under the staircase, where no one had thought of looking; but that, finding that his master did not return, and beginning to feel very hungry, he had lost patience, and, undoing the rope, which was not well tied, had come to ask M. Goefle for some supper.

The latter easily guessed what he wanted, but he could not understand why Ulph, whom he supposed intrusted with the care of this ass, should have given him the haunted chamber of Stollborg for a stable. He thought of a world of things. As this animal is a great rarity in cold countries, the baron, who had a team of reindeer as well (another rarity in this region, too cold for the ass and not cold enough for the reindeer), probably valued him very highly, and had ordered the overseer of the old chateau to take care of him, and keep him in a warm place.

“That accounts for the fire in the stove,” said M. Goefle to himself; “but I can’t understand why Ulph, instead of telling the simple truth, should have pretended to believe the room haunted. Perhaps he was ordered to fit up one of the stables for the occasion, and not having done so, wished to conceal his negligence; he hoped, no doubt, that I would be disgusted with the room, or would not notice the presence of this strange companion. Anyhow,” M. Goefle added, turning gayly to Jean, whose face amused him, “I beg your pardon, my poor ass, but I don’t feel inclined to keep you so near me. You have a remarkably good voice, and I don’t sleep soundly. I am going to take you to Loki, who will be a warm, comfortable companion; and, for to-night, you will have to share his supper and straw. Come, Nils, come, my child; you must light me to the stable.”

Receiving no reply, M. Goefle was obliged to return to the guard-room and find the child’s hiding-place; pulling him out by one leg, he carried him back and seated him, whether he would or not, upon the back of the ass. At first, Master Nils, thinking that he was astride the imaginary bear, uttered piercing cries. He had never seen an ass, and was as much alarmed by Jean’s long ears as he would have been by the horns of the devil; but gradually the tranquillity and gentleness of the poor beast restored his courage. M. Goefle gave him the candlestick with three branches; he himself led the ass by the halter, and, leaving the tower, they all three turned into the wooden gallery, with its mossy shed, that surrounded the snow-covered court, and proceeded towards the stable.

At this very moment, Ulph came out of the pavilion in which his uncle lived, and proceeded towards the tower, with a lantern in one hand, and in the other a large basket-full of articles for setting the lawyer’s table. Ulph now was as eager to return to the bear-room as, a little while before, he had been unwilling to enter it. This is what had happened to him.

Like a true Swede, Ulph was all kindness and hospitality; but since he had been living in the gloomy chateau of Stollborg, with his deaf and melancholy uncle, the poor fellow had become so superstitious and cowardly that he never failed to lock himself up in his room as soon as the sun went down, with the firm resolution of not admitting any suspicious characters after that hour, but of leaving them rather to perish in the ice and snow. If the outer door of the chateau had not been broken open by Puffo’s vigorous fist, and if Ulph had not recognized the lawyer’s voice in the court, the respectable doctor of laws would certainly have been obliged to return to the new chateau, in spite of his dread of its noise and confusion.

After introducing him into the tower, Ulph became a little more tranquil. He even said to himself that it was all for the best. If M. Goefle wanted to defy the devil it was his own business, and it was far better to have to admit him than to be obliged to reconduct him to the new chateau; an order that would have entailed upon the unfortunate guide the terrible necessity of returning alone over a lake peopled with frightful goblins. The old overseer of Stollborg was delicate, chilly, and accustomed to retire early. Happily, he had already shut himself up in his pavilion, which stood at the end of a small inner court, and which had no view of the outer court, as all its windows overlooked the lake. Whether asleep or not, therefore, it was not at all likely that he would suspect the presence of his guest before the next morning. After reflecting deeply, Ulph resolved not to disturb him, and to do his best to prepare M. Goefle a good supper. Sten himself was very frugal, but he was treated with great consideration by his master, the Baron de Waldemora (proprietor both of the new chateau and the old tower), who, once for all, had given his new steward the strictest orders to provide liberally for this old and faithful servant of his house.

Ulph loved good living, and seeing that his uncle sent back, out of prudence and economy, the superfluous provisions brought from the new chateau, he made arrangements, without telling him anything about it, to receive everything himself. He concealed his gastronomic wealth in a certain mysterious corner of the kitchen, and kept his bottles of old wine, which must have been exceedingly valuable in a country where the vine is a hot-house plant, piled up behind a row of empty hogsheads, in a certain little cellar in the rock, very cool in summer and very warm in winter.

Ulph was not covetous; he was an honest fellow, who would not upon any account have made money out of the baron’s presents. He was good-hearted too, and, whenever he could keep a friend with him, he invited him in a mysterious manner to share his precious bottles; drinking alone is sad, and he was only too happy to be able to enjoy them in company. But it was so well established that the chateau was haunted, not by a bear, as Nils imagined, but by an unhappy ghost, that poor Ulph could not persuade a single boon companion to stop with him a moment after sunset. To keep up his courage, he was obliged to finish his bottles himself; and it was at such times that he beheld the wicked _trolls_ and _stroemkarls_, who try to lead their victims to waterfalls, and throw them in. It was probably to avoid being tempted to follow them, that the judicious Ulphilas drank until he had entirely lost the use of his legs. There were a number of free-thinkers and cosmopolites who did not believe in anything, among the baron’s numerous suite of servants, but Stenson hated them all more or less, and his nephew Ulphilas shared his antipathies.

Ulphilas Stenson, therefore, had plenty of materials for the doctor’s supper, and he was not a bad hand at frying and roasting. After all, the lawyer’s gayety had inspirited him a little, and he was looking forward to having a pleasant chat while waiting on the table, when his cheerful ideas were suddenly disturbed by strange sounds. He imagined that he heard a stealthy rustling in the thick walls, a creaking in the wainscots! Twenty times the frying-pan fell from his hand, and at one moment he was so sure that his sighs of terror were repeated behind him by a mocking echo, that he remained for three good minutes without daring to breathe, and far less to turn around.

This was what made him so slow in preparing this much-desired repast. At last, when he had finished his work after a fashion, he went down into the cellar to get some wine. There new agonies awaited him. Just as he was about leaving this sanctuary with a sufficient load, a tall black figure glided before him. His lantern went out, and the same mysterious steps that had already frightened him almost out of his wits, went rapidly up the cellar stairs. Ulph came very near fainting; but, recovering his courage, he returned to the kitchen, and leaving his saucepans simmering on the stove, resolved, under the pretence of setting the table, to go and see whether M. Goefle would not cure him of his terror.

It was at this very moment, as he was coming along the wooden gallery with his useful load, that he met face to face a whimsical apparition. There before him he beheld the doctor of laws in his night-cap, leading by the halter a strange, monstrous animal (like a true Dalecarlian peasant of those days, Ulph had never seen the ass, and perhaps had never heard of it), while upon this animal, whose long ears cast gigantic shadows along the gallery, rode a little red devil bearing a triple flame; the very imp whom M. Goefle had wished to pass off as his valet, but who could only be the kobold in person, the familiar demon whom he had boasted of having in his service.

This was too much for poor Ulph. He respected kobolds, but he did not want to see them. His grasp failed; he set his basket on the ground, and, turning short round, fled, and shut himself up in his room, swearing by his eternal salvation that he would not come out again that night, even although the lawyer should die of hunger and the devil should eat up his supper.

It was all in vain that M. Goefle called. He received no reply, and after conducting the ass to the stable, he took up the abandoned basket and returned to set the table, with Nils’s help, in the bear-room.

“Well,” he said, “travellers must be philosophical. Here are glasses, dishes and napkins, so we will hope that that lunatic will provide us with some food as well. We shall have to wait his good pleasure, since there is no means of doing otherwise; and, in the meanwhile, we can open these bottles, which look promising.”

Nils set the table quite neatly, the fire blazed merrily in the stove, and Monsieur Goefle had quite recovered his natural good-humor, when the child began tumbling about in a languid, helpless way, which showed that he had suddenly become sleepy.

“Look out there!” cried the lawyer; “wake up! You have to eat yet; you must be hungry.”

“Oh yes! Monsieur Goefle,” replied the child; “but I want to sleep so much! I can never wait all the while until your supper is brought and you have done eating. Give me a little of this bread and blackberry jam; then I will be stronger, and will wait upon you.”

M. Goefle himself opened the pot of sweetmeats, and Nils seated himself unceremoniously in the place intended for his master, while the latter warmed his feet, which had been chilled by their expedition to the stable. M. Goefle was as active in imagination as fluent in speech. When there was no opportunity for talking, his mind kept busily at work, or he abandoned himself to agreeable reveries. In a little while he began to feel the pangs of hunger again, and turned to see whether Ulph had returned, at last, with some more solid dish than sweetmeats; but he only saw little Nils fast asleep, with his head on the table and his nose in the plate.

“Come, come!” he said, shaking him; “now that you have had something to eat, you must keep awake. I want you to wait upon me. Go and see whether Ulph--”

It was useless for M. Goefle to finish. Nils was overcome by the irresistible sleep of childhood. He got up, but his eyes were vacant, and he staggered like a drunken man. The lawyer really pitied him.

“Well, go to bed,” he said, “since you are good for nothing.”

Nils turned to go to the guard-room, but stopped at the door, and, leaning against it, fell fast asleep standing. He had to be carried to bed. Then there was another trouble. The little man really could not take off his gaiters. M. Goefle had to take off his valet’s gaiters, and this was not an easy task, for the shoes were tight, and the child’s legs were swollen with fatigue.

When he was going to hoist him into his bed, he saw that the little rogue had already crept in, all dressed.

“The devil take you!” he said; “do you suppose I gave you those beautiful new clothes to sleep in? Get up and undress yourself; it is the least you can do.”

He pulled him out of bed, whether he wished it or not, but the child made useless efforts to unbutton himself. Aunt Gertrude, delighted to have full swing in dressing him up like a little valet before introducing him to his master, had had his elk-skin small-clothes and his red cloth vest made so tight, that they fitted him like wax. M. Goefle himself could scarcely pull them off. While thus engaged, he had to take him upon his knees before the fire, for the child was shivering with cold. It was useless for him to get angry, and curse Gertrude for giving him such a servant; he could not be so inhuman as to let him freeze. And then Nils disarmed him by his pretty ways. At every word of reproach, he would reply artlessly:

“You will see to-morrow, Monsieur Goefle: I will do all that you tell me, and then I will love you so much!”

“That will always be the way,” replied the good lawyer, shaking him a little. “I prefer to be rather less loved and a little better waited on.”

At last Nils was in bed, and M. Goefle turned to go in quest of his problematical supper, when the child called him back unceremoniously, and said in a reproachful voice:

“Wait, monsieur; you are not going to leave me all alone!”

“What more?” cried the doctor of laws. “Do you want company to sleep?”

“But, Monsieur Goefle, I never slept alone in my room at the pastor’s house; and here, above all, where I am so afraid. Oh! stop--stop; if you are going to leave me, I had rather sleep on the floor in the room where you are.”

Wide awake now as a cat, Nils jumped out of bed, and started to follow his master into the bear-room, in his shirt. M. Goefle lost all patience. He scolded; Nils took to crying again. He was going to shut him up. Nils began to howl. The doctor of laws formed an heroic determination.

“Since I have been so foolish,” he said, “as to suppose that a child ten years old was fourteen, and to imagine that Gertrude had a grain of common sense in her brain, I must pay the penalty. Five minutes’ patience and this young rogue will be fast asleep; while if I excite him by my opposition, God only knows how long I shall have to hear him groaning or braying.”

He went into the bear-room to get one of his bundles of papers, not without cursing the child, who followed with naked feet, and would scarcely give him time to find his spectacles; and then sat down before the fire in the guard-room, with the doors shut, as it was not very warm. After asking Nils ironically whether he did not want to be sung to sleep, he buried himself in his dusty papers, and forgot all about the supper, which did not arrive, and the child, who was snoring with all his might.

[Footnote 1: Gevala, Gefle, Gesle, and Goefle, are different ways of writing the name of the same town. The name of the advocate in question happened to be the same as that of the town in which he practised.]

II.

BUT what was Cristiano about while M. Goefle was meeting with all these adventures? The reader has probably guessed that the mocking goblin wandering about poor Ulph in kitchen and cellar was our adventurer in person, in pursuit of his supper. Ulph’s terrors and agonies enabled him to carry off the most portable dishes in the kitchen, almost under his nose. In the cellar he was less fortunate. On blowing out the coward’s light, he had found himself in such utter darkness that he was afraid of being shut up fasting in this subterranean vault. He had hastened, therefore, to retrace his steps, while consoling himself with the thought that he could seize the bottles which Ulph would be sure to bring up, at a more favorable moment.

The adventurer had lost some little time in cautiously exploring the secret passage of the bear-room, which we shall describe rather later; escaping from it with some difficulty, he introduced himself secretly into M. Stenson’s pavilion, and so had not been in a position to notice M. Goefle’s arrival. He thought, therefore, that the supper was being prepared for the old overseer. Before returning to his self-selected lodging, he had still to find some supper for his ass, and for several moments after Ulph’s final fit of terror, he was wandering about in the small court adjoining the outer enclosure; hence he lost the diverting spectacle of M. Goefle in his night-cap, leading the ass in triumph to the stable, with the help of his kobold in red livery. As he explored the old building in every direction, and opened all the doors that were not firmly bolted, Cristiano came at last to the stable, where he was delighted to see Master Jean eating his supper with a good appetite, and trampling upon a thick litter of dry moss, in company with a handsome black horse, who seemed to make him very welcome.

“Really, beasts are sometimes more reasonable and more hospitable than men,” thought Cristiano, caressing the noble animal. “Since we have been travelling in this cold country, Jean has been regarded with amazement, fear, or repugnance, in the various villages and peasants’ huts where we have stopped, and I myself, in spite of the affable manners of the people of this country, have fallen into a strange den of gloomy or absent-minded beings, where I am obliged to go marauding, like a soldier on a campaign. This good horse, on the contrary, makes room for Jean in his stall, without asking him the meaning of his long ears, and treats him from the start as an equal. Well, Jean, good-night, my friend! If I should ask you who had brought you here and supplied your wants to your heart’s desire, you would not perhaps have the goodness to reply; and I should suppose, if I did not see that some one had tied you by your halter, that you had been sensible enough to come of your own accord. Well, anyhow I will follow your example, and go and take my supper without thinking of the morrow.”

Cristiano shut the stable-door and returned to the bear-room, where he was agreeably surprised to find the table set with handsome dishes, heavy silver, and a white table-cloth, soiled only by a few sweetmeat stains around Nils’s plate.

“Hallo!” cried the adventurer, gayly, “these good people have finished, or rather they have begun with the dessert! But who the devil has been here in my absence? Puffo would not have been neat enough to set the table; that is not at all his style in travelling. Besides, he must have gone to the new chateau to seek his fortune, or I should have met him while exploring the old one. In fact, I never expected to receive any assistance from that fellow. If he has found a comfortable place for himself in some kitchen, no matter where, he will be sure to forget all about me, and I was quite right to take care of myself. But no matter, if he should happen to return here to sleep, the poor devil must not freeze at the door of the chateau.”

Cristiano went and opened the door of the court, which Ulph, after M. Goefle’s arrival, had taken pains to fasten, and returned firmly resolved to have his supper, no matter with whom, by fair means or foul.

“I have a right to it,” he continued; “the dishes are empty, and the food I bring fills them handsomely. If I have a companion here, and he proves good-natured, we will join forces; otherwise we will see which of the two is to turn the other out of doors.”

While talking in this way, Cristiano went to see whether his baggage had been disturbed. He found it in the corner where he had left it, and where it had not been noticed. He then examined M. Goefle’s trunk, valise and effects; his clothes scattered about upon the chairs (the linen carefully folded to be laid away in a closet, and the coats stretched over the backs of the chairs to get smooth); and, last of all, the empty valise, upon the cover of which he read these words:--_M. Thormund Goefle, Advocate, Gevala; Doctor of Law, Faculty of Lund_.

“An advocate!” thought the adventurer. “Well, he will talk, anyhow! A lawyer must always have a little wit and talent. He may prove an agreeable companion if he is sensible enough not to judge a man by his coat. But where can he be hidden? He is some one, I suppose, invited to the festivities at the Chateau de Waldemora, who, like myself, found the house full, or who fancied stopping in this romantic manor. Or he may be the business man of the rich baron, for it is scarcely likely that citizens are admitted into the society of the nobles in this country of castes and prejudices. It is nothing to me! The lawyer has certainly gone out, in any event. He may be chatting with the old overseer, or perhaps he is in the double-bedded room that we were told about, although I see no signs of a door. Shall I look for him? Who knows that he has not gone to bed? Yes, that is most probable. The people here wished to wait upon him, but he declined everything; contenting himself with sweetmeats, and longing only for his bed. May he sleep in peace, the worthy man! For my part, I shall do very well in this large arm-chair, and if I am cold--hallo! here is a magnificent cloak lined with fur, and a sable travelling cap, that will protect body and ears from the frost. Let me see whether they will be comfortable! Yes, very indeed,” thought Cristiano, throwing the cloak over his shoulders, and donning the cap; “and that is lucky for me! What a strange puzzle life is! When I think that I have followed a respectable profession for ten years, and yet have not a good cloak to cover my poor body, now that I am lost in the polar regions, I can scarcely believe my senses!”

Cristiano had already placed his booty, consisting of an appetizing Hamburg tongue, a bear’s leg smoked to perfection, and a superb piece of smoked and salted salmon, upon the table.

He was just going to throw off the doctor’s travelling suit so as to eat more at his leisure, when he thought he heard the tinkling of bells passing under the only window of the bear-room. This window, which was opposite the stove, was large, and had a double sash, the universal practice in all comfortable dwellings, whether ancient or modern, in northern countries. However, the outside sash showed how Stollborg had been neglected. Almost all the glass panes were broken, and, as the wind had ceased, you could hear distinctly the noises from the outside; the masses of recently fallen snow breaking off from the old solid beds and sinking with a dull, mysterious boom down the perpendicular rocks, the distant shouts proceeding from the farm on the shore of the lake, and the melancholy howling of the dogs, saluting with unintelligible maledictions the red disk of the rising moon.

Cristiano, who felt curious to see the sleigh which was cutting a path over the frozen lake so near his refuge, opened the inner sash and thrust his head through one of the broken panes. He saw distinctly a fantastic vision gliding along at the foot of the rock. Two magnificent white horses, driven by a bearded coachman dressed like a Russian, were drawing lightly a sleigh that flashed and glittered with a shimmering light, like a precious stone. The lantern on this elegant vehicle was unusually high, and looked like a star swept along by a whirlwind, or a will-o’-the-wisp furiously chasing the sleigh. Its light, thrown forward by a reflector of red gold, cast warm gleams across the blue moonlight on the snow, and painted with rainbow hues the vapor streaming from the nostrils and sides of the horses. Nothing could have been more graceful and poetic than this wheelless car, which might have been that of the fairy of the lake, passing like a dream under Cristiano’s dazzled eyes. It is true that he had seen sleighs of all kinds, from the most luxurious to the most simple, in passing through Stockholm and other cities of the country, but none of them had seemed to him so picturesque and so singular as the one now stopping at the foot of the rock. For, he could no longer doubt it, a new visitor, and this time an opulent one, was coming to take possession of Stollborg, or to reconnoitre that silent retreat.

“The sleigh has afforded me a beautiful spectacle,” thought Cristiano; “but the devil take those who are in it! Here, I wager, is another interruption to the peaceful supper I was promising myself.”

The rash imprecation died upon his lips! A sweet and really melodious voice, a woman’s voice, which, according to Cristiano, could only belong to a charming woman, proceeded from the sleigh. The voice, speaking in the dialect of the province, which he did not understand, made this remark:

“Do you think, Peterson, that your horses can ascend to the door of the old chateau?”

“Yes, mademoiselle,” replied the large coachman, muffled up in furs, “this evening’s snow will make it a little troublesome, but others have been before us already. I see the fresh tracks. Don’t be afraid. We will get there.”

The approach to Stollborg, which M. Goefle had called a _little rock_, was an actual natural staircase, consisting of layers of schistose rock of unequal thickness. In summer it would have been enough to disable horses and carriages; but winter in the north renders every road practicable and every traveller intrepid. A thick bed of frozen snow, solid and smooth as marble, fills up all hollows, and levels all inequalities. The horses, shod for the purpose, climb dangerous heights, and descend boldly the most precipitous declivities; sleighs are not often upset, and accidents, when they do occur, are seldom dangerous. In a few moments this one stopped at the door of the little chateau.

“You must ring cautiously,” said the sweet voice to the coachman; “you know, Peterson, that I don’t want to be seen by the old steward, who, perhaps, tells everything that happens to his master.”

“Oh, he is so deaf!” replied the coachman, jumping to the ground. “Ulph won’t say a word, for he is my friend; provided always that he chooses to open the door. He is a little timid at night, and no wonder, the chateau--”

Peterson was probably going to tell about the ghosts of Stollborg, but he did not have time to continue. The door opened as if of itself, and Cristiano, as well muffled up as the coachman, thanks to the lawyer’s cloak and fur cap, appeared at the threshold.

“No matter, here he is,” said the sweet voice. “Stand aside, Peterson, and don’t forget to take off the bells from your horses; I begged you so particularly to attend to it. Don’t be impatient, poor fellow, I won’t keep you waiting long.”

“Take your time, mademoiselle,” replied the devoted servant, wiping the icicles from his beard, “it is very mild this evening.”

Cristiano did not understand a word of this dialogue, but he listened with none the less delight to the sweet voice, and he offered his arm to a little lady so well wrapped up in ermine, that she looked like a flake of snow rather than a human being. She spoke to him at once, but still in Dalecarlian, so that he could not guess what she said, although it was evident from her intonation, sweet as it was, that she was giving him some orders. She mistook him for the keeper of old Stollborg; and as the voice of command, in all countries alike, requires no other answer than submissive gestures, Cristiano did very well, without understanding and replying, during his short walk with the little lady, whom he conducted along the wooden gallery leading from the door of the court to that of the donjon.

In taking her to the bear-room, Cristiano obeyed instinctively his natural hospitality, without knowing whether she would thank him for his kindness. In the same way he had been led instinctively to go and meet her by curiosity, and perhaps also a sentiment of gallantry, which was still all-powerful at this epoch, over men of all ages and classes.

The young lady, who had followed her guide unsuspiciously, started with surprise when she found herself in the famous room.

“Is this the bear-room?” she said, rather anxiously; “I have never been here.”

Cristiano, who did not understand a word, made no reply; and looking at him by the light of the only candle placed upon the table, she cried, in Swedish:

“Good heavens! This is not Ulphilas! To whom have I the honor of speaking? Can it be M. Goefle in person?”

The young man understood and spoke Swedish remarkably well. He remembered instantly the name upon the lawyer’s valise, and saw--thanks to the disguise of his cloak--that he would be able to amuse himself, if only for a moment, by playing his part. Singular circumstances, that we shall learn about in due time, had given him perfect command of the Swedish language; but he was a stranger in the country. Utterly isolated, and bound by no ties to any human being, he was not obliged to be circumspect in his behavior, and considered it only natural to divert himself whenever he had a chance. He replied boldly, therefore, at a venture:

“Yes, madame, I am Monsieur Goefle, Doctor of Laws of the Faculty of Lund, practising law at Gevala.”

As he spoke, he laid his hand upon a spectacle-case containing a pair of green spectacles, which the lawyer was in the habit of wearing when he travelled, to protect his eyes from the fatiguing glare of the snow. Delighted with this discovery, which the special providence that watches over children and hair-brained mad-caps seemed to have thrust under his very nose, he put them on, and felt perfectly disguised.

“Ah, monsieur,” said the unknown, “I ask a thousand pardons, but I did not see you. I have never had the pleasure of meeting you, and I took you for the keeper of Stollborg. You must have laughed to hear me ordering him to inform you that I requested a moment’s interview, and promising him a fee for so doing.”

Cristiano bowed respectfully.

“Will you allow me, then,” resumed the unknown, “to converse with you about an affair--a little embarrassing--a little delicate?--”

These two words delighted the adventurer to such a degree, that he forgot all about his intense momentary vexation at having his supper delayed by this unexpected visit, and only thought how much he should like to see the face of his visitor, which was buried in her ermine hood.

“I am ready to listen to you,” he said, in a grave tone; “a lawyer is a confessor. But are you not afraid, if you keep on your cloak, that you will catch cold when you go out?”

“No,” said the unknown, accepting the arm-chair which her host offered her, “I am a true mountaineer; I never catch cold.”

She added artlessly:

“Besides, you will think, perhaps, that I am not suitably attired for the conference that I have just solicited with a dignified and respectable person like you, Monsieur Goefle; I am in ball-dress.”

“Good gracious!” cried Cristiano, thoughtlessly; “I am not a ferocious old Lutheran! A ball-dress does not shock me at all; above all, when it is worn by a pretty person.”

“You are very gallant, Monsieur Goefle; but I don’t know that I am pretty and well-dressed; I do know, however, that I ought not to hide my face from you, for any distrust upon my part would be an insult to your loyalty, to which, in requesting your advice and protection, I have just made appeal.”

The unknown threw back her hood, and Cristiano saw the most charming head imaginable. It was a pure Swedish type, eyes of a true sapphire blue, quantities of light golden hair of extreme fineness, one of those exquisitely pure and fresh complexions which are never seen in equal perfection among other races; and, just visible through the half open pelisse, a slender neck, shoulders of snow, and a slight, flexible form. This sweet vision was chaste as infancy, for the little visitor was only sixteen years old, and had not done growing.

Cristiano did not pride himself upon his austerity; he was a man of his time, but he was superior to the hazardous career into which he had been thrown by circumstances. He was a person of intelligence and natural delicacy. He gazed with quiet friendliness upon this Rose of the North; and, if he had had any treacherous idea in drawing her into this bear’s den, it was quickly replaced by the anticipation of an adventure which, however gay and romantic, could not fail to be as honest as the amiable and frank countenance of his young guest.

“Monsieur Goefle,” resumed the latter, encouraged by the respectful attitude of the pretended lawyer, “now that you have seen my face, which I hope is not that of a wicked person, I must tell you my name. You will know it perfectly well. But it distresses me to see you standing, when I am seated upon the only arm-chair in the room. I know the respect that is due to a man of your worth--I was going to say of your age, for I have always thought (I don’t know why) that you were very old; while, on the contrary, you seem younger than the baron.”

“You flatter me,” replied Cristiano, pulling his furred cap, with its ear-pieces, down over his eyes and cheeks; “I am old, very old! It is only the tip of my nose that can appear young, and you must excuse me for not uncovering in your presence. Your visit surprised me; I had taken off my wig, and must hide my bald crown as I can.”

“Don’t speak of it, Monsieur Goefle, and please to sit down.”

“With your permission I will remain standing near the stove, on account of my gout, which pains me,” replied Cristiano, who was standing with his head in the shadow, while the feeble light of the only candle was thrown entirely upon his visitor. “To whom have I the honor--”

“Yes, yes,” she replied eagerly. “Oh! you know me well, although you have never seen me. I am Margaret.”

“Indeed!” cried Cristiano, in a tone that signified, “I know no more than I did before.”

Happily, the young girl was impatient to explain herself.

“Yes, yes,” she replied, “Margaret Elveda, the niece of your client.”

“Ah, the niece of my client--”

“Countess Elveda, sister of my father, the colonel, who was the friend of the unhappy baron!”

“The unhappy baron--”

“Ah, _mon Dieu_! Baron Adelstan, whose name I cannot pronounce without emotion in this room, who was assassinated by the miners of Falun--or by some one else! for, after all, monsieur, who knows? Are you very certain that it was done by the workmen of the mine?”

“As to that, mademoiselle, I cannot say; if any one has a right to swear upon his honor that he does not know anything about it, it is your humble servant,” replied Cristiano, in an impressive tone, that seemed forcibly to strike the young girl, who gave his words her own interpretation.

“Oh, Monsieur Goefle,” she said earnestly, “I was perfectly sure that you shared my suspicions. No nothing will ever persuade me that all these tragic deaths that were talked about, and which are still talked about, in whispers--but are we quite alone? can no one overhear us? This is such a serious matter, Monsieur Goefle!”

“In fact it seems serious,” thought Cristiano, assuming the tottering gait of an old man, and going to see whether the outside door was shut; “the only trouble is that I don’t understand it all.”

He glanced around the room, but failed, as before, to notice the door of the guard-chamber, which was closed between M. Goefle and our two friends.

“Well, monsieur,” resumed the young lady, “can you believe that my aunt wants to make me marry a man whom I cannot help regarding as the assassin of his family?”

As Cristiano knew nothing at all about the facts in question, he tried to draw out an explanation by chiming in with the views of his new client.

“Your aunt must be a mad-woman,” he said, a little cavalierly, “or something worse.”

“Excuse me, Monsieur Goefle, she is my aunt, and it is my duty to respect her! I only accuse her of being blind or prejudiced.”

“Blindness and prejudice be it then; it is really a matter of no importance. What I see most clearly is, that she is trying to force your inclination.”

“Oh! there is no doubt about that, for I have a horror of the baron! Did she not tell you so?”

“Quite the contrary! I supposed--”

“Oh, Monsieur Goefle, how could you suppose that I, at my age, would feel the least liking for a man fifty-five years old?”

“What! Is the person they want you to marry fifty-five years old into the bargain?”

“You are only pretending to be in doubt, Monsieur Goefle! You cannot help knowing his age; you are his lawyer, and, it is said, also his devoted friend--but I don’t believe that at all.”

“The deuce! You are right. May I be hung if I care a fig for him! But what is the name of the gentleman?”

“The baron? You do not know whom I am talking of?”

“How should I? There are so many barons in the world.”

“But my aunt has told you--”

“A truce to what she has told me! How can I remember all that your aunt says? She doesn’t know her own mind, perhaps.”

“Oh, pardon me; she knows it only too well! She has a will of iron. She must have told you about her plans, for she declares that you approve them.”

“I approve of sacrificing a charming child like you to a dotard?”

“There now, you see that you know the baron’s age perfectly well.”

“But once again, what baron do you mean?”

“What baron? Is it possible that it can be necessary for me to mention the Snow Man?”

“Indeed! The Snow Man? Very well, I must confess that I am no wiser than I was before.”

“How, Monsieur Goefle, you do not know the surname of the most powerful, the richest, and at the same time the most wicked and hateful of your clients, the Baron Olaus de Waldemora?”

“What, the proprietor of this chateau?”

“Certainly, and of the new chateau on the other shore of the lake; the owner, moreover, of innumerable iron mines, lead mines, and alum mines, and of several valleys, forests and mountains, without referring to his fields, cattle, farms and lakes; the seigneur, in a word, of a good tenth part of Dalecarlia. It is because of his vast possessions that my aunt is at me, from morning until night, to make me forget that he is old, sickly, and perhaps burdened with crimes.”

“Good God!” cried Cristiano, in amazement, “I have accepted the hospitality of an agreeable person!”

“You are laughing at me, Monsieur Goefle! You don’t believe in his guilt, and you were jesting when you said just now--”

“All that I said I am ready to repeat. But I should like to know of what crimes you accuse my host?”

“I don’t accuse him; public rumor has accustomed me to regard him as the assassin of his father, his brother, and his sister-in law, the unhappy Hilda--”

“Nothing more than that?”

“You know what is said, Monsieur Goefle; you were commissioned, were you not?--Oh, no, it must have been your father, who was Baron Olaus’s lawyer at that time. The baron brought forward deeds of some sort. Nothing could ever be proved against him; but the truth was never known, and never will be known,--at least until the dead come from the tomb to tell it.”

“That sometimes happens,” replied Cristiano, smiling.

“Really, do you believe?--”

“Oh, that is one of our professional phrases, when an unexpected proof is discovered, you know--a lost letter, a chance word, long forgotten.”

“Yes, I know, but nothing was ever found, and for fifteen or twenty years the whole thing has been buried in silence and forgetfulness. Baron Olaus was suspected and hated at first, but he has succeeded in making himself feared, and that tells the whole story. At present, he carries his presumption and confidence so far that he wishes to marry again. Ah! may God preserve me from being the object of his pursuit! It is said that he loved his wife devotedly; but as for the Baroness Hilda, it is generally believed--”

“What is believed?”

“I see that these peasant’s stories have never reached you, Monsieur Goefle, or else you laugh at them, since you have quietly taken up your quarters in this room.”

“In fact there is some story connected with it,” replied Cristiano, as a remark that he had recently heard flashed into his mind. “The people at the farm said to me this evening,--‘Go there, and let us know in the morning how you passed the night.’ The room is haunted, then, by a goblin--a ghost--”

“There must be something strange here, whether a phantom or a real being, for old M. Stenson himself believes so, and the baron also, perhaps. It is said that he has never entered the room since his sister-in-law’s death, and he has had a certain door walled up--”

“Yonder,” said Cristiano, pointing to the top of the staircase.

“It is possible,” replied Margaret, “I don’t know. It is all very mysterious, and I thought you would be well informed about matters that I am ignorant of. I don’t believe in ghosts. Still, I shouldn’t like to see one, and nothing in the world would induce me to sleep here, as you are going to do. As for the baron, whether the story of the diamond ring is true or false--”

“What! another story--”

“Yes, and the most improbable one of all, I confess; I cannot help laughing as I repeat it. They say, in the cottages of the neighborhood, that the baron loved his wife--who was as wicked himself--so well, that he gave her body, when she died, to an alchemist, who reduced it in an alembic, and turned it into a great black diamond. It is certain, at any rate, that he wears a strange ring upon his finger, which I cannot look at without terror and disgust.”

“That is a good proof!” said Cristiano, laughing; “but only think if a similar fate should be reserved for you. They would find nothing, I know, in the alembic where you were baked, but a pretty rose diamond of the purest water, but that would not be any more cheerful for you, and I advise you not to run the risk of being crystallized.”

Margaret burst out laughing, but it frightened her to hear her fresh, childlike voice echoed mysteriously through the old room. She became sad, and said in a tone of discouragement:

“Well, enough of that! I see, Monsieur Goefle, that you are an amiable and witty man, as every one says; but I was very much mistaken in supposing that you would sympathize with me, and would be my guide and protector. You agree with my aunt, you consider all I have told you a mere dream, and you reject the cry of my heart. May God have pity upon me! I have no longer any hope but in Him.”

“Wait a little!” replied Cristiano, moved to see great tears rolling over rosy cheeks which had just been so smiling. “Why don’t you depend more upon yourself? What have you told me, after all? You announce that you have a confession to make of a delicate nature and all it amounts to is that your friends wish you to marry a man who does not please you, and towards whom you feel an antipathy. I thought you were going to confide some love affair to me. You need not blush at that. A love may be pure and honorable, even although ambitious parents disapprove of it. A father and mother may be mistaken, and yet it is painful to resist their influence. You are an orphan! Yes, you must be, since you are dependent upon an old aunt--I call her old, and you shake your head! Assume that she is young--she claims to be so, no doubt, and I, it seems, am no longer a judge, for I considered her old. If she is young, she ought all the more to be sent--I will not say to mind her own business, but to reflect to some purpose, while you ask the advice of some old friend, M. Goefle, for instance--that is to say, myself--some one, in a word, who can put you in a way to marry the happy mortal whom you prefer.”

“But I assure you, dear M. Goefle, that I do not love any one,” replied Margaret. “Oh God! it would only need that to complete my misfortunes! It is quite enough to be obliged to endure the importunities of a person you hate.”

“You are not sincere, my dear child,” replied Cristiano, who was playing his part so well and naturally that he really was beginning to feel as if he were M. Goefle in person; “you are afraid that I will repeat what you confide to me to the countess, my client.”

“Oh, no, no, dear Monsieur Goefle, it is not so, indeed! I know that you are both honorable and kind-hearted. Every one considers you so, and even the baron, who thinks ill of every one else, dares not say a word against you. Such is my respect for you, my confidence in you, that I have been watching for your arrival at Waldemora; and I must tell you how the idea of seeking you in this way occurred to me: this will give you my whole history in a few words, and I don’t believe my aunt has related it very accurately.

“I was brought up in Chateau Dalby, in Woermland, twenty leagues distant, under the eyes of my guardian, Countess Elfride d’Elveda, my father’s sister. When I say under her eyes, you know what I mean! My aunt loves society and politics. She accompanies the court to Stockholm, and is much more interested in the affairs of the Diet than in taking care of me. So, all my life, I have lived in a rather gloomy chateau with my French governess, Mademoiselle Potin, who, fortunately, is very kind, and who loves me dearly. My aunt makes us a visit twice a year, to see whether I have grown, whether I am speaking French and Russian well, whether I am in want of anything, and whether the pastor of our church, who is very strict, takes good care that we do not receive any visits besides his own, and those of his family.”

“Well, really, that is not very amusing!”

“No; but I have no cause to consider myself unhappy. I study a good deal with my governess, I am quite rich, and my aunt is quite generous, so that I have everything I want; and when the time seems a little long to us, we read novels;--oh, such good and beautiful novels, that make us forget our solitude, and whose moral always is that crime is punished and virtue rewarded!”

“You may be sure of that! At all events, there is no harm in believing it, and behaving accordingly. But there must have been some hero of all this solitude, and of all these romances; did no handsome young fellow, in spite of pastor or aunt, contrive to glide into the house, or at least into your heart?”

“Oh! no, never, I assure you, Monsieur Goefle!” replied Margaret, frankly. “But when my aunt told me suddenly eight days ago that she had selected a husband for me, I will confess that I formed a certain ideal of what he would be like; and when she pointed out Baron Olaus de Waldemora, and said,--‘There he is, be amiable,’ he was so different from what I expected, that I was not amiable at all.”

“I can understand that. And then, your aunt?”

“Oh, she laughed at me! ‘You are a simpleton,’ she said. ‘Girls of rank have no business to think anything about love. They are not expected to marry for love, but to secure a brilliant position. I intend you to be Baroness de Waldemora; otherwise, I declare that you shall remain a prisoner all your life in this chateau, without seeing a living soul. I will do more: I will dismiss Mademoiselle Potin, who looks as if she gave you bad advice. Choose;--I give you a month to decide. The baron has invited us to spend the Christmas festivities[2] at his splendid residence in Dalecarlia. It will be very gay there; hunts, balls, entertainments of all sorts will be going on from morning until night. You will be able to form an idea of his wealth, his influence, his power, and you will acknowledge that you can never hope to make a more brilliant or a more honorable marriage.’”

“And so you said yes?”

“I said yes, that I would come to Dalecarlia, since she gave me a month for reflection. I was glad enough to see a new country, to go to entertainments; in a word, to see a few human beings. But we have been here now for eight days, and I give you my word, Monsieur Goefle, that I consider the baron still more disagreeable than the first day I saw him.”

“But you will meet at his house--if you have not done so already--some one less disagreeable, to whom you will open your heart, as you are now doing, and who will inspire you with a hope of happiness, a courage to resist tyranny, that will help you a great deal more than the advice of an old lawyer.”

“No, Monsieur Goefle, I shall open my heart to no one but you, and I certainly shall not confide in the persons I may happen to meet at the Chateau de Waldemora. I can see plainly that the baron’s guests are people whom he has helped, or who need his help; servile or ambitious, they fear or flatter him, and all of them (except a few excellent young people whom I am very friendly with) bow down before me as if I were already the wife of their patron! I hate and despise these provincial courtiers, but I have faith in you, M. Goefle! You are the baron’s businessman, but you are not his vassal. Your pride and independence are well known. You see that my aunt did not succeed in deceiving me. She told me that you would agree with her in everything, that you would treat my romantic dreams with scorn and contempt, and would even persecute me on account of them; but we heard a very different story from the brother of Mademoiselle Potin, who is tutor in a family in your province, and who knows you intimately. You know who I mean--M. Jacques Potin, whom you have done so much for.”

“Yes, yes, a charming fellow!”

“Charming! no! He is hump-backed!”

“Charming in character! His hump has nothing to do with that.”