Part 7

“It is true that his hard and cold expression makes him seem so; but every one agrees that he has very fine features.”

“The people of this country have a singular standard; but there is no disputing about tastes! I do not agree with them. He seems to me ugly and deformed, but comical and good-humored.”

“You are certainly joking, M. Christian Goefle, or we do not understand each other. God forgive me, you are looking at the person opposite. Is it possible that you have mistaken him for the Baron de Waldemora?”

“How can I help supposing that the person who calls you his fiancée, and whom you gayly call your lover, is the baron?”

Margaret burst out laughing.

“Oh! dear me,” she cried, “if you have really imagined that I could treat Baron Olaus with such friendly familiarity, you must have thought me very deceitful or very inconsistent; but, thank God, I am neither the one nor the other. The individual whom I call jestingly my lover, is a person of no less consequence than the doctor of sciences, Monsieur Stangstadius, of whom you must have heard your uncle speak.”

“Doctor Stangstadius,” replied Cristiano, feeling very much relieved; “I must confess that I do not know him, even by name. I have just arrived from a distant country, where I have always lived.”

“I can understand, then,” replied Margaret, “how it is that you have not heard of our learned mineralogist. Your opinion of him is very correct. He is an excellent man, sometimes a little violent, but never malicious. And then he is simple as a child! There are certain days when he imagines that my _passion_ for him, as he calls it, is serious, and when he tries to break the chain, assuring me that a great man like himself belongs to the universe, and cannot devote himself to a woman. I have known him for a long time; ever since he came to the chateau where I was brought up, for the purpose of making investigations on our estates. He passed several weeks with us, and, since then, my aunt has allowed him to visit me whenever his business brings him to our province. He was my only acquaintance here when I arrived, for you must know that Baron Olaus has made him superintendent of important mining operations on his domain. But there is my aunt looking for me! Now I shall have a good scolding, you will see!”

“Do you want to avoid her? Pass between the wall and this hunting trophy.”

“Potin would have to go too, and we could never persuade M. Stangstadius to keep our secret. Oh dear! now my aunt will torment me to death to dance with the baron, but I shall persist in being lame, though the pain is so slight that I scarcely feel it.”

“It is nothing at all, I hope.”

“Yes, indeed. I was so fortunate as to fall down on the staircase a little while ago, in my aunt’s presence. My ankle really did hurt me a little, and I looked dreadfully woe-begone, to prove that I could not possibly open the court dance with the master of the house. My aunt had to take my place, and that is why I am here; but the dance is over, and here she comes!”

In fact, Countess Elfride d’Elveda approached, and Cristiano, who had taken a seat by Margaret’s side, drew back a little.

The countess was a small woman, fair, fat, lively and resolute. She was scarcely thirty-five years old, and was very coquettish, although less from gallantry than a love of intrigue.

She was one of the most ardent _caps_ in Sweden; that is, she took sides with Russia against France, whose partisans were called _hats_; and with the nobility and Lutheran clergy against the king, who naturally sought his support in the other orders of the state, the citizens and peasants.

She had been pretty, and, what with her wit and rank, was still sufficiently so to make conquests; but there was something in her manner, by turns haughty and familiar, that displeased Cristiano. Her evident duplicity and obstinacy, which he read at a glance, did not seem to him to promise well for Margaret’s future.

“Well,” she said to the latter, sharply and briefly, “what are you doing here crouched up against this stove, as if you were frozen? Come, I want to speak to you!”

“Yes, aunt,” replied Margaret, pretending, with innocent hypocrisy, to rise with difficulty; “but the fact is that I am suffering very much with my foot. Being unable to dance, I felt cold in the large saloon.”

“Whom were you talking to?” inquired the countess, looking at Cristiano, who had gone up to M. Stangstadius.

“The nephew of your friend M. Goefle, whom Monsieur Stangstadius just presented to me. Shall I introduce him to you, aunt?”

Cristiano, who was not listening to the professor, heard perfectly well what Margaret said. Resolved to risk everything to continue his acquaintance with the niece, he came forward of his own accord, and bowed to the aunt in such a respectful and graceful manner, that she was struck by his fine appearance. She must have been very much in need of M. Goefle, for, in spite of Cristiano’s plebeian name, she received him as courteously as if he had belonged to one of the best families in the country; and when Monsieur Stangstadius declared that he was a young man of great merit, became excessively condescending.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” she said, “and I am angry with M. Goefle for never speaking to me about a nephew who does him honor. Are you a devotee of science, like our distinguished friend Stangstadius? I am glad to hear it. There is no finer career that a young man can choose. No position is more agreeable than that of the scientific man, for he is not obliged to make sacrifices to obtain consideration.”

“I see that it is so in Sweden,” replied Cristiano, “and it is an honor to this noble country. In Italy, where I was brought up, and even in France, which was my home for some time, it is very different; there, learned men are generally poor, and poorly encouraged, when they are not persecuted by religious fanaticism.”

This reply enraptured the geologist, who was very vain of his country, and was extremely pleasing to the countess, who despised France.

“You are right,” she said, “and I do not understand why your uncle should not have had you educated in your own country, where the position of students is so fortunate and honorable.”

“He wished me to speak the foreign languages with facility,” replied Cristiano, saying the first thing that occurred to him, “but he need not have sent me so far upon that account; for you speak French here, I find, as well as they do in France.”

“We are much obliged to you for your politeness,” said the countess, “but you are flattering us. We do not speak it as well as you do, probably, and our Italian is still worse--although every one who is carefully educated studies it. You must talk Italian with my niece, and, if she makes mistakes, laugh at her well. But why is M. Goefle so anxious about the modern languages? Does he intend you for a diplomat?”

“Perhaps, madame; I am not yet fully aware of his intentions.”

“Fie! Fie! Pooh!” cried the geologist.

“Softly, dear professor,” resumed the countess; “there is a great deal to be said on that side too. All careers are desirable for those who know how to make them so.”

“If you, madame, will condescend to advise me, I shall esteem it a privilege to be indebted to you for a valuable suggestion.”

“It will give me pleasure to do so,” she replied, with an affectation of genial amiability; “and I feel all the more interest in you, because you have all the qualities to insure success. Come with us to the dancing-hall. I want my niece to dance at least one minuet; it is not fatiguing, and she is very perverse to refuse. Do you hear, Margaret? You must do like every one else!”

“But, aunt,” said Margaret, “every one has not a sprained ankle.”

“In society, my child (I am saying this, Monsieur Goefle, for your benefit as well), you must never let anything prevent you from being agreeable or useful. Remember one thing: no one fails to fulfil his destiny but through his own fault. You must have a will of iron; you must be superior to cold and heat, hunger and thirst, great sufferings as well as little pains. The world is not, as young people imagine, a fairy palace, where you live for enjoyment. It is, on the contrary, a place of trial, where you will have to conquer all your wants, all your desires, all your repugnances, with real stoicism;--that is, if you have an aim in life, and if you have not you are a very weak person. Ask your _lover_, Margaret, whether he thinks of his little comforts when he descends into an abyss to seek that which is the aim of his life. Very well; under the domes of palaces, as well as in the caverns of mines, there are horrors to be braved. That of dancing with a slight pain in your ankle is a very little thing in comparison with what is before you. Come along; get up and come!”

Margaret could not help looking piteously at Cristiano, as much as to say:

“You see, I shall never be as strong as she is.”

“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.