At last he persuaded himself that the voice must come from the tower itself. Perhaps some captive was hidden there in a secret dungeon. He called aloud three times, using at a venture the mythological name of Vala, that is Sibyl, which the singer, in her chant, had seemed to wish to appropriate. At this the voice became silent again, as if in confirmation of the superstitious belief of the country, that whenever you succeed in calling one of the malevolent or melancholy spirits who dwell among the mountains by its name, it is either frightened or consoled, and in either case is reduced to silence.
But still another thought haunted Christian, as he finally turned to go back to the tower by an outside path. He could not help asking himself whether one of the victims of the mysterious Baron Olaus, crazed with suffering, was not lamenting in a dungeon under his feet. However, he forgot all about this fantastic idea, when he found M. Goefle seated at table in the bear-room.
“Well,” said the lawyer, without troubling himself to rise, “you came near bringing me into a pretty scrape with your prank last evening. The baron, strange to say, did not mention a word about it; but the Countess Elveda absolutely would not believe me when I protested and swore that I had neither a nephew nor a natural child.”
“What, M. Goefle! did you disown a son who has done you so much honor?”
“I did indeed; it would have been quite impracticable for me to keep up the joke, or to assume the responsibility of such a mystification! Do you know that you did not escape observation by any means? Quite independently of the scene with your host, everybody seems to have been struck by your style and graces, the ladies especially. In the countess’s room I met five or six of the more fashionable ladies of the province, who were quite infatuated about you; and when I swore upon my honor that I had nothing whatever to do with this unknown, you should have heard their suppositions and commentaries! Some of them were inclined to suggest that it might have been Christian Waldo, of whom so many adventurous stories are told; but the prevailing opinion was that you were the prince royal, travelling incognito about his future kingdom.”
“Prince Henry, who is now at Paris?”
“Yes; and this served capitally to account for the baron’s nervous attack, for he detests the prince, and would naturally have been agitated on meeting him, by the conflict between his hate and resentment on the one hand, and the respect due to the future heir of the throne on the other.”
“But the Countess Elveda cannot have been deceived by such a silly idea as that?”
“Oh no, certainly not, she knows the prince too well; but she is extremely fond of quizzing, and she amused herself by pretending to these ladies that you were so much like our future monarch, that she did not know what to think. Only, as I was going out, she took me aside and said: ‘You are severe, my friend, in disowning this imprudent young man. For my own part, I thought him very agreeable, and if he does not resemble you in features, he takes after you at least in his wit and distinguished manners.’”
“Why, Monsieur Goefle, that is very flattering to me. But then she persists in believing me your son?”