“Baron Olaus had not gone far when word reached him of his nephew’s death; upon which he at once returned, apparently as full of grief as the baroness herself. She, however, overwhelmed him with maledictions, to which he only replied by sad and heart-rending smiles. Every one lamented her misfortunes; as a widow, a mother, even as an insane person, she was a worthy object of compassion; but no one thought of accusing the generous, the patient, the sensible Olaus. Perhaps he was thought even more to be pitied than she, as being doomed to endure suspicions so outrageous. He was admired, moreover, for not allowing himself to be irritated; his very complaints were uttered in a tone full of tenderness, and he begged Hilda to continue to reside at the chateau, and to live with him as a sister with a brother. For my part, I am quite convinced that the baron is a great knave, and that he did not regret his nephew’s death, and yet I am far from considering him an actual monster; he has never seemed to me to be a man of sufficient boldness to commit great crimes. The baroness had suffered too much, and was in a state of too much mental excitement to be able to judge coolly. She charged him with having killed father, brother, and nephew; and all at once she formed a singular resolution, which I think was an act of vengeance and despair, and altogether an ill-judged measure.
“She called together the magistrates and civic authorities of the province, and declared to them, in presence of all her own household, that she was pregnant, and that she intended to maintain all the hereditary rights of the child whose natural guardian she was. She made this declaration with great energy, and announced that she should proceed to Stockholm, in order to have her condition fully authenticated, and to ascertain her legal rights until the birth of her child.
“Baron Olaus listened to this declaration with great calmness, and replied, in substance, thus:
“‘It is perfectly unnecessary to expose yourself to the fatigues and risks of this journey. The hope that my dear brother’s lineage will be revived fills me with satisfaction, nor will I consent to a renewal of any controversies. It is evident that my presence annoys and irritates you, and never shall it be said that the disturbed state of your mind was aggravated by any voluntary act of mine. I will myself withdraw, therefore, and will not return here until after the birth of your child—always, supposing that you are not deceived as to your condition.’
“Olaus did, in fact, depart, saying to everybody that he did not believe a word of this story of pregnancy, but that he was in no haste to enter into his inheritance.
“‘For the sake of propriety, and in consideration of my sister-in-law’s unhappy state of excitement,’ he added, ‘I prefer to wait, and can very well afford to do so for a year, if necessary, so that the truth may be established.’
“These were the views he expressed to my father at Stockholm, whither he now immediately returned, and my father, I remember, blamed him for being too confiding, and over-delicate. He thought Baroness Hilda had invented this posthumous child, and intimated that it would not be the first time that a widow had brought forward a supposititious heir so as to despoil the rightful inheritor. The baron, however, replied with infinite mildness:
“‘What would you have me do? I am tired of the hateful suspicions which this exasperated woman is trying to fasten upon me, and can best refute them by proving the disinterestedness of my own conduct. And furthermore, to provide against being pursued by her hatred even here, I think it will be best for me to travel until my affairs can be settled.’
“Shortly after this Baron Olaus went to Russia, where he was received by the czarina with much attention, and where he began to construct that web of intrigues whose result has been to make him one of the most tenacious and dangerous of the cap-party of the Diet. It has been asserted that his character developed very rapidly during his stay at the Russian court, and that, at his return, he had acquired such views, manners, and principles, as caused him, from that time, to appear totally changed. He was still always tranquil and smiling, but there was something terrible in his tranquillity, something sinister in his smile. He was still friendly and caressing in his manner to inferiors, but his friendliness was contemptuous, and his caresses the soft touch of the covered claw. In short, he was precisely what he is to-day—except so far as advancing years and ill-health have intensified his more gloomy traits—a problematic being, who is either the most consummate of villains or the victim of a most strange combination of terrible circumstances. He now entered upon a career of intrigue and crime, which the czarina has shown great skill in turning to her own advantage, and of which the virtuous baron himself was very soon heard to speak with complaisant admiration; and it was at this time that, he began to be called ‘The Snow Man,’ either to signify that his heart had been frozen during his residence in Russia, or that his reputation had, as it were, thawed in the clearer and warmer sunshine of his own country. The surname was made the more appropriate by his physical characteristics, for, in the course of time, a livid paleness became the habitual color of his face, his hair turned prematurely gray, his carriage was stiff, and his bloated hands were invariably as cold as death.
“But I must not anticipate. This change in the baron, which was, perhaps, only the effect of an exhausting struggle against unjust suspicions, did not become thus striking until after the death or disappearance of all the persons whose existence might have been disadvantageous to him. While still in Russia he caused it to be reported in Sweden that he was mortally ill, and it was believed by many that this was one of the first proofs of his accomplishments as an intriguer. This report was said to be totally unfounded; and when it was afterwards asked what reason he could have had for the strange whim of declaring that he was dying at St. Petersburg, his enemies alleged that it was to relieve Baroness Hilda from her fear of him, and thus prevent her from coming to have her child born at Stockholm. Unfortunately—I am stating the views of the enemies of Olaus—the baroness fell into this snare. She remained at Waldemora during the summer, and, when her pregnancy was so far advanced that it was impossible for her to travel (she had become quite feeble in consequence of her many afflictions), Baron Olaus suddenly reappeared, as well and active as ever, in the neighborhood of the chateau.