It was Mrs. Rantzau. She was all in black and looked very handsome indeed. Holm could not help admiring her magnificent figure, and thought to himself that Hermansen certainly seemed to have made a better bargain here than recently with the Spaniard.
"I dare say you are surprised to see me here now," Mrs. Rantzau began. "But exceptional circumstances...." she flushed, and broke off in some confusion.
"Heard the news, my dear lady. Congratulations! You've found an excellent husband, a thorough——" he checked himself, hesitating between compliment and sincerity.
"You know my past, Holm, and you will not wonder at my seeking a safe haven after my troubled life—and I hope and believe he will never have reason to regret."
"Indeed not, my dear lady; he's a very lucky man if you ask me. And at his age, too——"
"I don't think he's any older than yourself, Holm," put in Mrs. Rantzau, with a smile.
"Well, perhaps not—but he looks it, anyway."
"There was one thing more, Mr. Holm. My daughter's future is more to me even than my own, and it is chiefly on her account that I have come."
"Aha, I thought as much. So you're in the plot as well, of course?"
"The plot?"