We will now leave Christian, who proceeded philosophically to drive the heavily-laden Jean from the new chateau, and revert to certain matters that had been occurring during his interview with the major-domo. Let us go back to the moment when M. Goefle set out for Stollborg: the moon was rising, and the aurora borealis beginning to shine with renewed splendor, and lighted on his way by their combined effulgence, he walked rapidly across the lake, humming a tune, and every now and then unconsciously gesticulating.
By this time supper had been served to the guests at the new chateau, and the size and beauty of the splendid Christmas-cake, which, according to the Norwegian usage, was to remain uncut upon the table until the sixth of January, was attracting the admiration of the ladies. It was a masterpiece of confectionery; and, with due respect to the gallantry of the period as well as to the observances of a religious festival, it had been made to resemble the temple of Paphos. It was ornamented with monuments, trees, fountains, people and animals. The pastry-work, and crystallized sugar of all colors, imitated the most precious materials, and were elaborately wrought into the most fantastic forms.
The baron, on the plea of having important letters to read and answer, had intrusted the duty of doing the honors of the supper-table to an elderly single lady of his family, a person thoroughly accomplished in the duties of the mistress of the house, and a complete cipher in all other respects. The truth was, that the baron, who never lacked excuses for excluding himself when he happened to feel preoccupied, was, at the present moment, shut up in his private cabinet with a man with a pale face, who called himself Tebaldo, and who was no other than Guido Massarelli. Guido had not obtained this tête-à-tête without effort. Johan, who was very jealous of his master’s confidence, had tried to extract his secret from him, so as to turn it to his own advantage; but Massarelli was not the man to be deceived in that way. He had insisted; and after waiting about the chateau for the whole day, he had at last succeeded in obtaining the interview, whose results he had anticipated, when he had boasted in advance to Christian that he was a friend of the family. The conversation, which was carried on in French, begun with a strange narrative, to which the baron listened with a sarcastic and contemptuous expression.
“You have made a very startling statement,” he observed, at last, to Massarelli; “and I should even say, if I could believe what I have heard, a very important revelation. But I have so often been deceived in matters of a delicate nature, that I must insist on other proofs than mere verbal ones, before trusting you. The story you have related is strange, romantic, improbable—”
“And yet M. Stenson acknowledged its accuracy; he did not even attempt to deny it,” replied the Italian.
“So you say,” coldly answered the baron; “unfortunately, I am unable to corroborate your assertions. If I should interrogate Stenson, he would certainly deny it, whether it be true or imaginary.”
“Very probably, your lordship. A man so capable of dissimulation as to have imposed upon you for twenty years, will not be at a loss for a falsehood now; but, if you will contrive to overhear a conversation between us, you can learn the truth. I will undertake to make him admit it again, and in your hearing, provided he has no suspicion of your presence.”
“It would not be difficult, so deaf as he is, to introduce one’s self into his premises; but since, according to him, the person is dead, why need I concern myself about the past life of old Stenson? He must necessarily have acted in good faith; and though he had done me a great wrong by keeping silence, and thus permitting odious suspicions to rest upon me, yet—since time has rectified former prejudices—”
“Not so entirely as your lordship seems to believe,” observed the Italian, who was scarcely inferior to the baron himself in cool audacity. “The story is current throughout the country, and Christian Waldo must certainly have heard it on his way here.”
“If that were the case,” said the baron, with a look betraying his secret rage, “that juggler would never have dared introduce it in public, and before my very face, into a scene of his comedy.”