Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

“Shall I offer my arm to Countess Margaret?” said Cristiano to the imperious aunt; “she is really limping.”

“No, no; it is nothing but caprice! You will see that she will stop limping soon enough, for it is very awkward. Come, Margaret, give your arm to M. Stangstadius, and go before us; we want to see which of you limps the most.”

“What’s that? What’s that?” cried the professor; “I don’t limp at all, when I’m careful. If I choose I can walk ten times straighter and faster than the best pedestrians. I only wish you could see me up in the mountains, proving to the lazy guides that one can do whatever he wishes!”

As he spoke, M. Stangstadius began to walk very rapidly, but with such a vigorous elevation of his misshapen person at every alternate step, that poor Margaret was almost lifted bodily off the floor.

“Give me your arm,” said Countess Elfride to Cristiano; “not that I care for an escort, or require any assistance, but because I wish to speak to you.”

Cristiano obeyed, and the countess, who both walked and talked rapidly, added:

“Your uncle has told you, I suppose, that I wish to marry my niece to the Baron de Waldemora?”

“Yes, madame, he told me so--this evening.”

“This evening? Has he arrived? I did not know that he was here!”

“He could not find a room at the chateau, no doubt, and he is stopping at Stollborg.”

“What! In that den of evil spirits? Well! he will be in good company! But isn’t he coming to the ball?”

“I hope not!” replied Cristiano, thoughtlessly.

“You hope not!”

“I say so because of his gout, which requires perfect repose.”

“Indeed! Has he the gout? What a trial to such a brisk, active man! He never had it before, and imagined that he was always going to escape.”

“It is quite recent--the attack came on only a few days ago. He sent me here in his place to present his compliments to you, and receive your commands, which I will communicate to him as soon as he wakes in the morning.”

“Very well, then, you can tell him what I say. This is a matter that I make no sort of mystery about. I have noticed that, when you proclaim your plans boldly, they are already half accomplished. It is my wish, therefore, to marry my niece to the baron. You will tell me, perhaps, that he is not young; for that very reason he has no time to lose in frustrating the schemes of a dozen heirs whom he detests, and who are trying in vain to worm their way into his favor. Stay, there are two of them passing now; the one this way is the Count de Nora, an inoffensive, good-natured man; the other, the Baron de Lindenwald, is intelligent, designing, ambitious, and (like all of our nobility at present) poor. Baron Olaus is a happy exception, because he has no brothers. Now, what I want you to understand--you and your uncle as well--is, that the baron looks with a favorable eye upon my niece, and that she dislikes him. This does not discourage me at all. My niece is a child, and will submit. Since my resolution is known, no one will venture to pay court to him, and I will take care of her. Your uncle must undertake to bring the baron to a determination, and he can do it easily.”

“If the countess will condescend to give me her instructions--”

“You shall have them in two words: my niece loves the baron!”

“Really?”

“What! You do not understand? An aspirant in diplomacy!”

“Ah! of course;--excuse me, madame--Countess Margaret is reputed to love the baron, although she detests him, and--”

“The baron must believe that he is loved?”

“And it is Monsieur Goefle who must make him think so?”

“He alone. The baron is very suspicious; I have known him of old; I could not persuade him. He would suppose that I was interested.”

“Which is not the case,” said Cristiano, smiling.

“Which is the case!--for my niece. Ought I not to be so?”

“Assuredly; but will M. Goefle lend himself to this slight exaggeration?”

“A lawyer hesitate to embellish the truth a little? Nonsense! When your dear uncle has a suit to gain he is not so scrupulous!”

“No doubt; but will the baron believe him?”

“He will believe whatever M. Goefle tells him. According to him, he is the only sincere man alive.”

“The baron, then, wishes to be loved for himself?”

“Yes, he has that fancy.”

“If he loves Countess Margaret he will find it easy to deceive himself.”

“Loves her? Do you suppose any one falls in love when they have reached his age? That has nothing to do with it. The baron is a man of serious character, who wishes to marry for the sake of leaving an heir, having lost his son five years ago. If his wife is pretty, and of good family, he will be satisfied, and his only request of her will be not to make him ridiculous. Now he runs no risks with my niece; she is a girl of good principles, and, whether contented or not, she will never forget her dignity. You can tell your uncle so, to set his doubts at rest. Tell him, also, that he can rely upon my gratitude, which, as he knows, is not to be despised. In my position I can reward slight services with important ones; and, to begin with, what would he like for you? What would you like for yourself? Do you want to be attaché at once, and on a good footing with the Russian embassy? I have only to say the word. The ambassador is here.”

“God forbid!” said Cristiano, who detested Russia.

He recovered himself quickly, and not wishing to have a misunderstanding with the countess too soon, finished his sentence thus:

“God forbid that I should ever forget your goodness! I will do all in my power to deserve it.”

“Very well, begin at once.”

“Shall I go over to Stollborg and wake up my uncle?”

“No; keep near my niece, and talk to her from time to time in the course of the evening. Take advantage of the opportunity to eulogize the baron.”

“But I do not know him.”

“You have seen him, that is enough. You can speak as if you had been struck by his fine manner and noble figure.”

“I should be quite at your service if I had seen him; but--”

“Ah! you have not yet paid your respects to him. Come, then, and I will introduce you. But no, there is another way. Go and ask Margaret to point him out to you, and exclaim immediately about the beauty of his features and person. That will be simple, spontaneous, and worth a great deal more than a studied eulogy.”

“But why should my opinion, even supposing it to be sincere, have the slightest influence with your niece?”

“In Sweden, any one who has travelled has more influence than two or three ordinary mortals. And then, don’t you know that young girls don’t understand their own natures; that it is vanity that impels them to choose their lovers, and not sympathy; and that the man, consequently, whom they admire the most, is always the one who is most admired by others? Stay! there is my niece seated with some other young ladies, who certainly would be very glad of a chance to win the baron. That will do nicely. I will leave her there, and you can join the circle. To give you an opportunity to fulfil your promise, I will take the baron’s arm and walk up and down in full view of this solemn assembly. Seize the right moment.”

“But what will the baron think if he happens to notice me? He will set me down as an awkward boor, too ignorant either to ask any one to introduce me to him, or to introduce myself.”

“Don’t trouble yourself; I will make it all right. Besides, the baron will not see you; he is very short-sighted, and only recognizes people by their voices. When he hunts he wears glasses, and sees perfectly well; but he is still too much of an exquisite to use them in society. It is all settled. Away with you!”

In another moment Cristiano was passing among the groups of beautiful young ladies who were reposing between the dances. He introduced himself to one of these little coteries by saying something polite to Mademoiselle Potin, who was next the wall, and who, poor girl, was very much gratified at his courtesy. Margaret was delighted to see him among the young men who surrounded her companions, and the latter soon learned from her that he was “a young man of great promise, nephew of the celebrated Goefle, the intimate friend of her aunt.” Some of them turned up their noses, and thought it not at all the thing that a plebeian should venture to come and entertain them, among the young officers of the _indelta_,[3] who generally belonged to good families; but most of them welcomed him kindly, and thought him charming.

The fact is, that Cristiano, like a great many adventurers in this adventurous age, was charming. His style of beauty, also--a singular coincidence that he had not thought of explaining--was precisely that best calculated to please in this country. He was tall and well formed, fair, with a clear red and white complexion, with dark blue eyes and strongly marked eyebrows, as black as ebony, as were his long curved lashes and magnificent hair. Moreover, there was a something peculiar about him that attracted attention: a sort of foreign style, a suavity in his language and manners telling of the more civilized, or, at least, the more artistic circles to which he had belonged; a lingering perfume, as it were, of Italy and France. As soon as it was known that he had been brought up in Italy, he was overwhelmed with questions, to which he replied with so much good sense, frankness, and gayety, that after chatting for a little while, all these young mad-caps were crazy about him. Cristiano, although by no means a fop, was not at all surprised. He had been used to pleasing in other days, and when he resolved to indulge once more, at all costs, in an evening’s gayety, he knew, that unless his success should be seriously interfered with by some unexpected revelation, he would appear to better advantage than most of the young nobles and officers who were present.

In the meanwhile, the little Countess Elfride, who was leaning, or rather hanging upon the arm of the imposing Baron Olaus, had passed twice without catching Cristiano’s eye. The third time she coughed violently, and led the baron up to Margaret, while Cristiano, who understood, broke away from the bewildering group and fell back, to observe his host without attracting his attention.

Baron Olaus was a tall, stout man, and, in spite of his age, was still very handsome, but the deadly pallor and sinister impassibility of his countenance made it really appalling. His fixed look struck you like a blast of icy wind that takes the breath away, and the expression of his face when he smiled was extraordinarily sad and disdainful. As soon as he spoke to Margaret, Cristiano recognized him from his voice, which was disagreeably harsh and monotonous, as the very person who had been selling Sweden so cheap an hour before in his conferences with the Russian diplomatist. He recognized him also from his lofty stature and rich dark dress, which he had noticed while listening to him doing the honors of his country to the enemy.

“Have you fully determined not to dance, mademoiselle?” said the disagreeable baron to Margaret. “Are you suffering much?”

The countess did not give Margaret time to answer.

“Oh, it is nothing!” she said; “Margaret will dance soon.”

She led the baron away, after looking again in a domineering manner at Cristiano. Now this is how he obeyed her:

“So that is Baron Olaus de Waldemora?” he said, approaching Margaret and Mademoiselle Potin, who had hastened to join the young girl at the approach of her chaperone.

“That is he!” replied Margaret, with a bitter smile. “What do you think of him?”

“He must have been quite handsome thirty years ago.”

“That, at least,” rejoined Margaret, with a sigh. “Did you like his face?”

“Yes; I have a great admiration for cheerful faces. There is a certain gayety about his--”

“Is it not frightful?”

“What was that you said to my uncle?” said Cristiano, sitting down beside her chair, and lowering his voice; “did he kill his sister-in-law?”

“It is thought so.”

“For my part, I am sure of it.”

“Indeed! Why?”

“Because he must have looked at her!”

“Oh! Is it not true that he has the evil eye?”

“You exaggerate a little,” said Mademoiselle Potin, who no doubt had been terrified by some silent threat of Countess Elfride. “He has the fixed look of people who do not see well.”

“Just so,” said Cristiano; “death is blind. But who gave the baron the surname of _the Snow Man_? It suits him: he is the living embodiment of a Spitzbergen winter. He has given me a chill.”

“And did you notice his curious habit?” said Margaret.

“He put his hand to his forehead as if to wipe off the perspiration; do you mean that?”

“Exactly.”

“The Snow Man wants, perhaps, to make us believe that he is perspiring; but the simple truth is that he is thawing.”

“You see that I had good cause to be afraid of him. And his black diamond--did you notice that?”

“Yes, I noticed the hideous black diamond, as he wiped his forehead with his fleshless hand; which forms such a singular contrast to his corpulent figure and bloated face.”

“Whom are you talking about so?” said a young Russian lady, who had risen to spread out her gown over her hoop petticoat; “the Baron de Waldemora?”

“I was just about to say,” said Cristiano, without being disconcerted, “that that worthy man has not three months to live.”

“Oh, then,” cried the Russian, laughing, “you must make haste to marry him, Margaret!”

“Keep your advice for yourself, Olga,” replied the young countess.

“Alas! I have not, like you, an aunt who carries everything before her! But what makes you think, M. Goefle, that the baron is so ill?”

“From the unhealthy disproportion of his figure, from the yellow white of his glassy eyes, from the pinched-in look at the base of his hooked nose, and, above all, from an indefinable feeling that came over me as soon as I saw him.”

“Indeed! Are you gifted with the second sight, like the people in the north of this country?”

“I don’t know anything about that. I don’t consider myself a sorcerer; but I am quite satisfied that some organizations are more or less sensitive to certain mysterious influences, and I answer for it that the baron has not long to live.”

“I think,” said Margaret, “that he has been dead already for a long time; and that it is only by means of some diabolical secret that he succeeds in passing himself off for a living man.”

“It is true that he looks like a spectre,” said Olga; “but no matter, he is handsome in spite of his age, and he has a strange power of fascination. I dreamed about him all last night. I was frightened, and yet it was a pleasant fear. Can you explain that?”

“It is perfectly simple,” replied Margaret, “the baron is a famous alchemist; he knows how to make diamonds. Now you told us this morning that you would sign a compact with the devil for diamonds.”

“You are wicked, Margaret! Suppose I should tell others how you talk about the baron, and it should come to his ears; you would be vexed enough, I wager.”

“Do you think so, Monsieur Goefle?” said Margaret to Cristiano.

“No,” he replied. “Why should angels care for diamonds? have they not the stars?”

Margaret blushed, and turned to the young Russian:

“My dear Olga,” she said, “I implore you tell the baron yourself that I cannot endure him. You will be doing me a great service. Stay! I will prove my gratitude. There is the bracelet that you wanted so much! Make a quarrel between me and the baron, and I will agree to give it to you.”

“Oh, dear me! but what will your aunt say?”

“I will tell her that I have lost it, and you must not wear it while you are here--no questions will be asked. See, the baron is returning! They are going to dance another minuet, and he is coming to invite me; but I shall refuse. My aunt is talking politics with the Russian ambassador, and will not see me. Stay by me, and he will have to ask you.”

In fact, the baron came forward, and renewed his invitation with a sepulchral grace. Margaret trembled in every limb when he held out his hand to take hers.

“Countess Elveda informs me,” he said, “that you would like to dance now, and I am going to have another minuet for you.”

Margaret arose, took a step forward, and fell back in her chair.

“I should be glad to obey my aunt,” she said firmly, “but you see, baron, that I cannot, and I do not suppose that you want to torture me.”

The baron started. He was a man of intelligence, perfectly well-bred, and excessively suspicious. The countess had not deceived him so effectually that he was not capable of understanding the slightest hint, and Margaret’s aversion was too evident to be mistaken. He smiled bitterly, and replied with sarcastic courtesy:

“You are a thousand times too good, mademoiselle, and I trust you will believe that I feel your kindness deeply.”

He turned immediately to Olga, invited her, and led her away; while Margaret snatched the elegant bracelet from her arm, and slipped it into the ambitious young creature’s hand.

“Monsieur Goefle,” she said to Cristiano, eagerly, although with a trembling voice, “you have brought me happiness. I am saved!”

“And yet you are pale,” said Cristiano; “you are trembling.”

“I cannot help it! I was so frightened. And I am frightened still, for I cannot help thinking how angry my aunt will be. But no matter, I have got rid of the baron. He will revenge himself; he will kill me, perhaps. But I shall not be his wife; I shall not bear his name. I shall never touch his blood-stained hand.”

“Be quiet, for heaven’s sake be quiet!” said Mademoiselle Potin, who was as pale and frightened as herself; “some one may hear you. You have been very brave, and I congratulate you. But you are really timid, and all this excitement will make you ill. _Mon Dieu!_ don’t faint, my dear child. Take your smelling-bottle.”

“Don’t be afraid, my good friend,” replied Margaret, “I have recovered. Did any one around see what happened? I am afraid to look.”

“No, God be praised! The noise of the orchestra, which had just begun playing, drowned every other sound, and your young friends were hurrying away to the dance. We are almost alone in this corner. Don’t stay here and attract attention. Above all things, avoid having a scene with your aunt while you are so excited. Come with me to your room; give me your arm.”

“And shall I not see you again?” said Cristiano, with an emotion that he could not control.

“Yes, surely,” replied Margaret, “I want to speak to you again. In an hour you will find us--”

“Where shall I find you?”

“I don’t know. Oh yes! in the supper-room.”

As Margaret withdrew, Cristiano left the hall by another door, and began to look for the place of rendezvous, so that he might be there promptly at the appointed hour. Besides, he had been suffering from hunger ever since he came to the ball, in spite of his interesting adventures, and the word supper-room aroused his appetite to full activity.

“If no one is there,” he said to himself, “I shall make terrible inroad into the provisions of my lord baron.”

While he is proceeding towards this sanctuary, let us see what was taking place in the drawing-room.

[Footnote 3: A standing army, with an organization peculiar to Sweden, settled for life in each province.]

IV.

THE baron was certainly not fond of dancing, and his corpulence was by no means calculated to help him cut pigeon-wings; but in the “court-dances” which were usual at that period it was customary, and considered the proper thing to do, for even the gravest persons to take a part. The baron, who had been a widower for a long time, had given scarcely any entertainments during the life of his lawful heir; but when it became apparent that his name was in danger of perishing with him, and that his titles and estates would pass to a branch of his family which he hated, he had promptly resolved to marry again as early as possible; and, in choosing a wife, he had made up his mind to select, not a suitable and agreeable companion, for he felt no need of such a person, but some healthy young girl from whom he might expect children. He had accordingly furnished his mansion in a luxurious style, and had assembled together the ladies of the province, with the sole design of placing his baronial coronet upon the head of the prettiest among them who should be so kind as to offer to wear it.

The Countess Elfride had thought herself sure of the prize, but her plans had failed. The elderly suitor opened his eyes to the fact that he had been made to look ridiculous, and swore to be revenged both upon aunt and niece. Moreover, to this oath, which he registered in his mind with much promptitude, he appended a firm resolve not to be deceived twice; but, without admitting the interference of any third party, to offer himself to the first young lady of good family who should receive him with a sufficient degree of cordiality. This person turned out to be Olga, as he felt convinced when that young lady proceeded to tell him, in a confidential whisper, how Margaret had made over to her all right, title, and interest in his affections. She confided this pretty story to him with an assumed air of innocence and candor, as if it were the prattle of a child; and, really, she was a child in many respects, though none the less a woman, at once possessed and made cunning by ambition. The baron, who was by no means wanting in penetration, kept up the joke as if he saw nothing more in it; but, at the end of the dance, instead of taking Olga to her seat, he offered her his arm, and led her into the gallery, whose great extent rendered it quite suitable for confidential interviews. There, taking her burning hands between his icy cold ones, he said coldly:

“Olga, you are young and beautiful, but you are poor, and of too high rank to marry a handsome young fellow of low birth. It rests with you to turn your jest into earnest. I offer you my title and a brilliant position. Answer me seriously and without delay, or otherwise dismiss this subject forever from your mind.”

Olga was really young, beautiful, poor, vain, and ambitious. She took time by the forelock, and accepted at once.

“Very good,” observed Olaus, kissing her hand, “I thank you. Excuse me if I say not a word further. I should make myself ridiculous if I should undertake to talk to you about love, for you would imagine that I think myself a person who can be loved. We will be married--that is settled; and we both of us have decisive reasons for this resolution--that is certain. In the meanwhile, in case you really desire this marriage, I must request you to keep it an absolute secret for some days, above all from the Countess Margaret and her aunt. Can you promise me this? Remember, any indiscretion would break off our engagement.”

Olga had too much at stake not to give the required promise in good faith; and the baron handed her back to the great drawing-room.

Their absence had been so brief, that, even if observed, no particular conclusion could have been drawn from it. Yet the Countess d’Elveda felt uneasy at it, and went to find out what had become of her niece.

“Do not annoy yourself,” remarked Olga, “she was here this very moment.”

“She is hiding herself--she is still obstinate about dancing.”

“By no means,” said the baron, “she had consented to dance. It was I who declined to take advantage of her kindness.”

And offering his arm to the countess, he walked away with her, explaining, as they went, that he did not wish any one to be constrained to love him; that he was old enough to pay his addresses for himself, and that he begged her not to interpose further in the matter, lest she should be the means of his losing all hope, and even of his giving up his design of marrying.

The countess consoled herself for this reprimand, by the recollection that it was the first time the baron had shown any decided purpose of seeking her niece’s hand. Intriguing and perfidious as she was, she was this time the dupe of the baron, whose only object was to deceive her as she had deceived him.

“It is astonishing,” said Cristiano to himself, as he set out to find the supper-room, “to watch these intriguers in high life, to see how foolish they are in their malignity, and how easily they are deceived! But that must necessarily be the case in matters of that kind, when one lays down the principle, to begin with, of absolute contempt for the human species. We cannot despise others without despising ourselves. He who does not think well of the work he is doing is made impotent by that very fact. It was a superb piece of comedy for that aunt to tell me so calmly, ‘have a niece to immolate; help me about it; be quick, and I will pay you by giving you a position as head valet in a good family!’”

Cristiano, however, put aside his philosophic reflections as he entered the room he was looking after, which he discovered by a really delicious odor of venison. It was a very handsome circular room, laid with small movable tables, with a view of temporarily assuaging impatient appetites while waiting for the grand supper. As everybody had done great honor to the baron’s table already at nine o’clock, the room was empty, except for one servant, who was fast asleep, and whom Cristiano took pains not to waken, lest he should be considered greedy and ill-mannered. Without stopping to select, he seized a plate of stuffed veal à la Française; but just as he made a cut into it with the vermilion-handled knife, the servant, startled out of his sleep, sprang up as if he had been moved by springs, and M. Stangstadius bustled in, rattling the glasses and crockery with the jar which his uneven, jerking step communicated to the floor.

“_Parbleu!_ It’s you, is it?” he called out, on seeing Cristiano. “Glad to find you here! I don’t like to eat alone, and we can talk over serious matters while we satisfy the blind appetites of these poor human machines of ours. Pooh! you don’t mean to eat standing? Oh no! It’s extremely unfavorable to the digestion, and you don’t taste what you eat at all. Here, Karl, draw out that table--the largest. Very good. Now then, give us some of the best there is. How? Side-dishes? No, not yet. Something more solid; some good slices of that sirloin. After that you can bring the best cut out of that bear’s ham. It’s a Norway ham, I hope; they are the best smoked. Come, Karl, some wine! Give us some Madeira and Bordeaux, and you may bring a few bottles of champagne, too, for this young man; he’s likely to be fond of it. Very well, Karl. That’ll do, my boy; but don’t go, we shall want some dessert very shortly.”

While giving these orders, M. Stangstadius installed himself with his back to the stove, and applied himself to eating and drinking after so marvellous a fashion, that Cristiano cast away all shame, and began devouring with the whole force of his thirty-two teeth. As for the man of science, who had not more than a dozen, he manœuvred them so ably that he was not a whit behindhand, while all the while he continued talking and gesticulating with wonderful energy. Cristiano, astonished, inwardly compared him to some fantastic monster, half crocodile and half ape; and asked himself where could be the seat of this terrible vitality in a body so misshapen, apparently so feeble, and with diverging eyes incessantly moving, but with no expression whatever.

The conversation of the geologist soon did something to help solve the problem. The worthy gentleman had never loved a human being, nor even so much as a dog. Everything was perfectly indifferent to him beyond the circle of ideas in which he lived, so to speak, on himself; taking his own pleasure, admiring himself, flattering himself, and, in default of better material, finding nourishment in the perfumes of his own self-praise.

Cristiano felicitated him upon his magnificent health.

“Do you see, my dear fellow,” he replied, “when God made me he came to a full stop. I swear to you he could not have produced such another! I know nothing of the sufferings that others feel. To begin with, I have never known the vulgar and despicable infirmity of love. I never wasted one minute in my life in forgetting myself for one of those pretty dolls that you make idols of. A woman may be eighty or eighteen--it’s exactly the same to me. When I am hungry, if I am in a hovel, I eat whatever I can find, and if I find nothing, I occupy myself in thinking over my works; and I wait, without any uneasiness. If I am at a good table, I eat everything there is on it, and without feeling any inconvenience. I feel neither cold nor heat. My head is always burning, it is true; but it is with a sublime fire that does not consume the mechanism, but, on the contrary, nourishes and repairs it. I know neither hate nor envy. I am perfectly aware that no one knows more than I; and as to those who are jealous of me--there are a vast many of them--I crush them like the worms of the dust. They never recover after a criticism from me. In short, I am made of steel, gold, and diamond; I defy the entrails of the whole earth to supply a material more impassible or more precious than that of which I am made.”

At this comprehensive and frank declaration Cristiano could not help an immoderate explosion of laughter, which, however, did not at all disconcert or offend the Chevalier of the Polar Star. On the contrary, he took this hilarity to be a joyous homage to his own universal superiority; so that Cristiano perceived that his companion was, in some sense, a monomaniac of a curious species, whose infirmity might be defined as lunacy from excess of self-conceit. Cristiano questioned him in vain about such persons as interested him. As to the Baron de Waldemora, M. Stangstadius would only condescend to say that he had some aspirations towards science, but that, on the whole, he was simply an idiot. Margaret he set down as stupid for not accepting the first rich match that came along. He did, it is true, spare her a little, admitting that she must be more amiable than the rest of them, since she was in love with him. This he thought a proof of good sense, but he found it impossible to profit by this disposition of hers, since science was his wife and mistress at the same time.

“Really, Mr. Professor,” said Cristiano, “you seem to be admirably consistent in this wonderful logical system of yours.”

“Ah! I’ll answer for that,” replied M. Stangstadius; “I’m a different sort of man from your Baron Olaus, whom fools admire for his strength of will and coolness!”

“_My_ baron? I assure you that I want nothing to do with him.”

“For my part I speak neither well nor ill of him,” returned the professor; “all men are poor creatures, more or less; but does he not pretend to be a free-thinker, and to have never loved?”

“Could he have ever really loved any one? If he could, his face is extremely deceptive.”

“I don’t know but he may have loved his wife, while she lived. She was a malignant she-devil.”

“Perhaps, then, he admired her.”

“I’m sure I don’t know. She managed him, however, as she chose; and after she was dead, he could not endure to be without her, and so he came to engage me to calcine and crystallize her ladyship, the baroness.”

“Ah! then the famous black diamond is your work?”

“You have seen it, then! Is it not a capital result of experiment! The lapidary who cut it was in perfect despair at not being able to discover whether it was the work of nature or of art. But I must tell you the method I pursued, and how I secured its transparency. I took _my body_ and wrapped it in asbestos cloth, after the manner of the ancients, and placed it over an extremely hot fire of wood, coal, and bitumen, the whole well sprinkled with naphtha. When _my body_ was thoroughly reduced--”

Cristiano, finding himself condemned to undergo the history of the reduction and vitrification of the baroness, set about eating as fast as he could, and tried not to hear; but he had perfectly stuffed himself before the professor had ended his demonstration. This meeting was a sad disappointment to Cristiano, who had hoped for an interview with only Margaret and her governess. And he became more dissatisfied still, as a group of young officers of the _indelta_ invaded the hall.

These northern stomachs were far from being satisfied with the refreshments and cooling beverages provided in the ball-room, and so they came hither to warm their blood a little with good Spanish and French wine; and Cristiano observed with interest something peculiar in the way in which these men of the north drank their wine, and which he had never been able to notice to so good advantage. He began, moreover, to see something a little rude in their manners, and a rather rougher style of gayety than he found himself quite able to join in. But to make amends, the free-heartedness and cordiality of the young men were such as he entirely sympathized with. They all greeted him with eager kindness, and insisted on his drinking with them, until he found his head beginning to feel the liquor. He therefore stopped, fearing to go too far, but admiring the ease with which these robust sons of the mountains went straight on drinking the heady wine, without apparently feeling it at all.

As soon as he could disengage himself from their friendly challenges, he took up a position near the door, in order to go out whenever he should perceive Margaret in the gallery outside. He supposed that when she saw the room full of young men drinking she would not go in. She however did go in, notwithstanding, and in a few moments was followed by other young ladies and their cavaliers, who took seats at different tables, those already sitting there hastening to give them places, and to wait upon them. And now the mirth began to be louder and more enthusiastic. They forgot to imitate Versailles; they talked Swedish, and even Dalecarlian: the voices grew loud; the young ladies drank champagne without making any faces over it, and even took Cyprus wine and port, without any fear of the consequences. There were present brothers and sisters, betrothed lovers, and cousins. It was like one numerous family; and the sexes mingled with a freedom which was innocent, warm-hearted, perhaps a little inelegant, but, on the whole, touching, from its chastity and simplicity.

“What good souls they are!” thought Cristiano. “What the devil is the reason that as soon as they begin to think about themselves they attitudinize as Russians or French, when they appear to so much better advantage in their own natural character?”

The peculiar charm of the little Countess Margaret was exactly that she was herself in whatever circumstances. Mademoiselle Potin had certainly formed her most judiciously, in thus preserving her natural and spontaneous. And what Cristiano found especially agreeable in her was, that she declined wine. Cristiano had some prejudices.

While the rest were all chattering and laughing around Stangstadius,-- whose table, always in the same place, and always copiously served, became the centre and target of witticisms, by which he was not at all disconcerted,--Margaret found an opportunity of telling Cristiano in a confidential manner, which, as may be imagined, did not displease him, that her aunt had quite changed her demeanor to her, and, instead of finding fault, had become very good-natured.

“It must be,” she said, “that the baron has not mentioned my discourtesy; or else she knows of it, but means to try a different way to bring me into her plans. At any rate, I have a breathing-time. The baron is not attentive to me any more; and even if I am to be scolded again by my aunt to-morrow, or sent back for penance to my solitude at Dalby, I mean to enjoy myself to-night, and forget all my vexations. Yes, I intend to dance as gayly as I can; for, if you will believe it, Monsieur Goefle, this is the first ball I ever attended in my life; the first time I ever danced anywhere, except in my own room, with my good Potin. I am positively dying to try my little accomplishments in public; and I am frightened to death, at the same time, for fear of being awkward, and getting out in the figures of the French quadrille. I must find some obliging partner who will help me through, and look after me a little, so as to tell me all my mistakes in a charitable way.”

“I believe it will not be difficult to find him,” replied Cristiano; “and if you will venture to trust yourself to me, I guarantee that you shall dance as if you were at your hundredth ball.”

“Well, then, agreed. I accept, with thanks. Let us wait till twelve o’clock. We will make up a little separate ball all by ourselves, with these ladies and gentlemen here, at one end of the gallery. Then, perhaps, my aunt, who is dancing in the grand saloon with all the great people, will not see how suddenly my sprain has got well.”

Cristiano now began a brisk conversation with the young lady; and, being a little stimulated by the champagne, his gayety was gradually taking on a sentimental complexion, when a name, pronounced aloud close to him, made him start and turn around suddenly.

“Christian Waldo!” said a young officer, with an open and good-natured face; “who has seen him? where is he?”

“To be sure!” cried Cristiano, jumping up. “Where is Christian Waldo? Who has seen him?”

“Nobody,” answered some one from another table. “Who has ever seen Christian Waldo’s face, and who will ever see it?”

“You have never seen it, have you, Monsieur Goefle?” asked Margaret of Cristiano. “You do not know him?”

“No. But who is Christian Waldo, and how is it that it is impossible to see his face?”

“You must have heard him spoken of though, for his name seemed to strike you.”

“Yes, because I remember having heard it at Stockholm; but I did not pay much attention to it, and I do not even remember--”

“Come, major,” said a young lieutenant, “since you know this Waldo, tell us who he is, and what he does. I do not know anything about him.”

“Major Larrson knows a great deal if he can do that,” said Margaret. “For my part, I have heard so many different things said about Christian Waldo, that I promise beforehand not to believe a word of anything that is going to be told.”

“But,” replied the major, “I am ready to make oath, upon my honor, that I say nothing about him except what I absolutely know. Christian Waldo is an Italian comedian, who travels about from one town to another, amusing people by his good-natured wit and inexhaustible gayety. His exhibition consists--”

“We know that,” interrupted Margaret, “and we know that he gives his representations sometimes in drawing-rooms and sometimes in taverns; to-day in a castle, and to-morrow in a hovel; and that he makes the rich pay high prices, while he often exhibits to the poor for nothing.”

“An absurd original enough,” said Cristiano; “a kind of mountebank.”

“Mountebank or not, he is an extraordinary man,” replied the major, “and a man of genuine nobility of character, too, which is more! Last month, at Stockholm, I myself saw him fight three furious drunken sailors, one of whom had been cruelly abusing a poor cabin-boy, when Christian Waldo, indignant at the cowardly outrage, rescued his victim. On another occasion, this Christian threw himself into the midst of a fire to save an old woman; and every day he gave away almost all he received to persons who excited his pity. Indeed, it was said that the people of the suburbs were so enthusiastic about him, that he had to leave secretly in order to avoid being carried in a triumphal procession.”

“And also,” observed Margaret, “to avoid being obliged to remove his mask; for the authorities began to feel uneasy about an incognito so very popular, and they fancied he might be some Russian agent who was preparing the ground in this way, so that when the time came he could excite a sedition.”

“Do you believe,” said Cristiano, “that this funny fellow--for it appears that he is a funny fellow--is a Russian spy?”

“I? No, I don’t believe it,” replied Margaret. “I am not one of those people who prefer to think that goodness and charity cover wicked designs.”

“But his mask,” said one of the young ladies, who had been eagerly listening to the officers; “why does he always wear a black mask when he enters his theatre and leaves it? Is it to represent the Italian harlequin?”

“No, for he does not appear himself in the representation which he exhibits to the public. There is some reason, which no person knows.”

“Perhaps,” observed Cristiano, gravely, “it is to hide a leprosy, or something of the kind.”

“Some say his nose is cut off,” remarked one of the young people.

“And others, again,” added a third, “say that he is the handsomest young fellow in the world; and that he has permitted himself to be seen in the faubourg, and by some persons with whom he has formed a friendship.”

“It would appear,” resumed the major, “that he does not wear his mask at all within his own establishment; but reports are very conflicting about his face. A young boatwoman, who was almost ill with curiosity, managed to induce him to remove the mask, and fell quite ill with fright at seeing a death’s head.”

“Certainly this Waldo must be the devil himself,” said Margaret, “if he can appear as a handsome young man or a frightful spectre. Young ladies, don’t you all want to see him?”

“Do you, Margaret?”

“Let’s all confess that we are wild to see him, and that at the same time we are terribly afraid!”

“They say he is coming here, do they not?” asked one of the young girls.

“He is here now, according to the latest accounts,” answered the major.

“What, really?” cried Margaret; “has he come already? Shall we see him? Is he in the ball-room now?”

“Oh,” said Cristiano, “that would be rather a difficult matter.”

“Difficult? Why?”

“Because a mountebank would not venture to present himself in the character of an invited guest, among such a company as this.”

“Bah!” said the major; “it seems the fellow is not afraid to do anything. His mask, his exhibition, and his name, belong together; but it is asserted, and it seems quite probable, that, under another name, and without any mask, he comes and goes as he likes, and goes all over Stockholm; and that, in the public promenades and most frequented taverns, those who talk about him can never be certain that he is not just at their elbow, or perhaps the very person they are speaking to.”

“But then,” said Cristiano, “how do we know that he is not even in this very room?”

“Oh no!” answered Margaret, though not until she had glanced all round the room, “all of us who are here know each other.”

“But I? No one knows me? Perhaps I am Christian Waldo!”

“Then where is your death’s head?” said one of the young girls, laughing. “Without either mask or death’s head, you are only an apocryphal Waldo. And by the way, gentlemen, can any one tell us how it is known that he has arrived?”

“I can tell you,” replied the major, “how I found it out myself. It seems that an unknown person applied for accommodations here, and, the house being full, was directed to the farm-house. He gave his name, and showed the letter in which Johan, the major-domo, by order of his master, the baron, invited him hither for the amusement of the guests here assembled. I don’t know whether they have accommodated him in some corner of the chateau or elsewhere; but it is certain that he has come.”

“Who told you so?”

“The major-domo himself.”

“And he wore his mask?”

“He wore his mask.”

“And is he tall or fat? well formed or bandy?”

“I did not ask any of those questions; for as I saw him with my own eyes at Stockholm--masked, it is true--I know him to be tall, well made, and as lithe as a deer.”

“Probably he may be some ex-rope-dancer,” suggested Cristiano, who appeared to take no more interest in the conversation than politeness required.

“Oh no!” said Margaret; “he has received a capital education. Everybody is struck by the style and wit of his comedies.”

“But how do you know that they are his own?”

“People familiar with all the ancient and modern literatures, assert that nothing in them is stolen; and these little comedies of his--sometimes sentimental, it is said, also--have been a real literary event at Stockholm.”

“Will he exhibit to-morrow, do you think?” was asked on every side.

“It is to be presumed,” replied the major, “but if these young ladies are desirous to know, I shall be very happy to undertake to find him out and inquire.”

“At midnight?” said Cristiano, looking at the clock. “The poor devil is asleep. I believe the Countess Margaret had a more important plan to suggest to the company.”

“Yes, indeed,” cried Margaret. “I want to propose a little ball, all to ourselves. I am a new comer here--a perfect savage, I confess; you have only met me within these two or three days; but every one has been so kind and good to me, that I am not afraid to confess--what M. Goefle will be so good as to tell you--”

“This is it,” said Cristiano. “The Countess Margaret, as she herself just told you, is a perfect savage. She knows nothing in the world, not even how to dance; she is as awkward as possible, and limps at least as much as our illustrious master Stangstadius. Besides, she is clumsy, absent-minded, short-sighted. In fact, it would require a most Christian dose of charity to reconcile one’s self to the idea of dancing with her; for--”

“Enough! enough!” cried Margaret, laughing. “You have done me the honor to describe me with a great deal of humility. Please to accept my thanks, however; for they will all expect something so frightful now, that if I succeed only tolerably well everybody will be enchanted with me. The end of the matter is that I wish to make my first appearance before this small party; and that--if you all say so--we will go and dance in the gallery. The music in the grand saloon will be abundantly loud enough for us to dance by.”

Several of the young men hastened towards Margaret, to ask for her hand. She thanked them, but said that M. Christian Goefle had already devoted himself to be the victim.

“It is quite true, gentlemen,” said Cristiano, gayly, as his gloved hand received the little hand of Margaret; “all please to pity me, and so lead on to the torture.”

Places were taken in an instant, and the quadrille was formed. Margaret begged not to be one of the first four.

“You are curiously agitated,” said Cristiano to her.

“I am,” she replied; “my heart beats as if I were a bird launched out of the nest for the first time, and not quite sure that it has wings at all.”

“The first quadrille,” remarked the adventurer, “is, I see, an important event in the life of a young lady. In a year from now, when you have attended a hundred balls or so, do you suppose you will remember at all the name and face of the humble individual who enjoys the happiness and glory of directing your first dance?”

“Yes, certainly, Monsieur Goefle; the recollection will always be joined to that of the greatest emotions of my life: my fear of the baron, and my joy at being delivered from him, by an effort of courage that I should not have believed myself capable of, and with which I was certainly inspired by your uncle and yourself.”

“But do you know,” said Cristiano, “I am not at all certain of your aversion for the baron?”

“Why not?”

“You are assuredly much more frightened about dancing in public than you were about dancing with him.”

“Yet I did not dance with him, and I am going to dance with you!”

Cristiano involuntarily pressed Margaret’s small fingers; but she thought this merely an intimation that it was time for her to take her place, and, all rosy with pleasure and bashfulness, she stepped forward with him into the joyous circle, where she very quickly found herself entirely at her ease, as her grace and lightness entitled her to be.

“Well, I believe I am not afraid any more,” she said, as they returned to their place, while the other four began the first figure.

“You are a great deal too courageous,” replied Cristiano; “I hoped I should have been of some service, but you have learned so fast how to use your wings, that now you will be flying off with the first comer.”

“It will never be with the baron, though! But tell me why it was that you thought I exaggerated my dislike for him?”

“_Mon Dieu!_ I see that you are passionately fond of balls--that is, of entertainments and luxury; and every passion is followed by certain consequences. Now, if pleasure is the object, wealth is the means of securing it.”

“What? Am I so silly and so homely that I shall never make a rich marriage unless with an old man?”

“Then you admit that you will not marry any one but a rich man?”

“If I should say yes, what would you think of me?”

“I should not think ill of you.”

“I know; I should be doing just as so many others do; and you would not think well of me either.”

This rather delicate discussion was resumed at the third pause of the quartette to which our two young friends belonged. Margaret seemed to want to test Cristiano’s sincerity.

“Confess, now,” she said, “that you despise girls who marry for riches; like Olga, for instance, to whom the baron looks so handsome through the facets of the great diamonds that she dreams about.”

“I despise nothing,” replied the adventurer; “I am naturally tolerant, or else the facets of what virtue I have are dulled by friction with the world. I am enthusiastic for what is superior to the average; and I feel a philosophical indifference to whatever is adapted to the vulgar generality of people.”