“Matters of importance! Some silly piece of wickedness, as black as charcoal, and consequently as plain to be seen as charcoal on snow! Faith, it’s too late! the time is past.”
“Certainly, the time is past,” observed Christian, “and what she wants to tell you is not worth the trouble of hearing.”
“Ah! ah! Then you know what it is?”
“Perfectly; I’ll tell you about it at once, and I’m not afraid that you will lend your influence to helping on a scheme as horrible as it is ridiculous. The countess wants to marry her pretty niece, Margaret, to the dead-and-alive old Baron Olaus.”
“Yes, I know that very well, and I have openly laughed at the idea. Marry such a beautiful May to such a pale December! One would have to be as much of a white-cap as the peak of Sylfiallet to think of such a thing!”
“Ah, I was sure you would feel so. Is it not abominable, Monsieur Goefle, to propose to sacrifice Margaret in such a way?—”
“Hallo! Margaret? Why, you and Margaret must be on very intimate terms?—”
“Very far from it. I have only seen her. She is charming.”
“She is so considered. But the countess—how the devil did you come to know her, and how did you learn about her private plans?”
“That is another story; I will tell you about it if you have time—”