Nickelsen, however, recognised the writing, and promptly sent back a reply:
"Best thanks for your advice, my friend,
'Twas really kind of you to send;
But still, considering whence it came,
I can manage without it all the same.
So keep your triplets, one—two—three,
A widow without is enough for me!"
A grand ball was to be held at the Town Hall, in aid of the Fund for National Defence. Old Nick had no intention of going himself, but Mrs. Rantzau pointed out that it was his duty, as a loyal and patriotic citizen, to attend. Accordingly, albeit not without considerable hesitation, he decided to go. She tied his dress-bow for him, and put a red rosebud with a tip of fern in his buttonhole. She herself, with Old Nick in attendance, sailed into the ballroom like a queen, with pearls in her hair, and her dark blue silk dress fitting like the corslet of a Valkyrie.
The company made way for her involuntarily, and she was placed at the upper end of the hall, between Mrs. Jansen and Mrs. Heidt. The last named lady, who was ceremonious and reserved by nature, besides being conscious of representing the aristocracy of the town, was chilliness itself towards this newly risen star. Mrs. Jansen, on the other hand, a kindly soul, felt obliged to show her some little attention, and introduced her to a number of those present.
Dr. Stromberg, a middle-aged bachelor, had the reputation of falling in love with every new specimen of the fair sex he encountered. True to his character, he at once attached himself to Mrs. Rantzau, whose conquest of Strandvik was thus begun.
Old Nick sat in a corner talking to Winter, the Customs Officer, his eyes incessantly following the blue silk gown as it passed. His old heart was so restless and unruly, he began to wonder seriously if something had gone wrong with the internal mechanism. Cards, drinks, old friends, all were forgotten that evening he had no thought but for that figure in the blue silk dress that was ever before his eyes. He had experienced hallucinations before, when things seemed to dance round and round, but to-night, with nothing stronger than soda water—neat—it was past all comprehension.
In a circle of men, old and young, stood Emilie Rantzau, smiling and alert. She was sought after at every dance, until Mrs. Thor Smith, née Tulla Prois, observed indignantly that one might think the men had never seen a woman from another town before—and Heaven only knew what sort of a creature this one was. Mrs. Jansen herself began to be rather uneasy, when she saw her husband lead out the widow as his partner for the lancers—or "lunchers" as Cilia Braaten called it. And matters were not improved when the Consul started talking French with Mrs. Rantzau at supper, of which his wife did not understand a word.
"She's charming, my dear, a most interesting woman, and speaks French like an educated Parisienne," said Jansen to his wife.
Poor Mrs. Jansen was beginning to experience the pangs of jealousy, and determined to purchase a French made Easy the very next day.
"Bless my soul, if there isn't Justice Heidt asking the angelic widow for a dance," exclaimed Thor Smith, pulling Nachmann by the sleeve.