“Wait!” cried Christian, jumping out of the sleigh. “Let me take off his head-cover. How can he run with his nose muffled up like that?”
“Very true, Christian; thank you, my boy, but be quick! they are all ready.”
Scarcely had the doctor of laws spoken before a firework, placed upon another islet at the rear of the course, went off with a formidable noise. It was the signal for starting.
“Go on! go on!” cried Christian to M. Goefle, who would have held in Loki until the young man had resumed his seat; “you are losing time!”
He encouraged the horse, who set off at the top of his speed, while Christian remained with the head-cover in his hand, watching the career of the advocate and his faithful Loki. He did not look after them very long, however. As he moved a little to one side to get out of the way of the remaining horses, who, excited by the fireworks and the example of their companions who had joined in the race, were stepping about in a very lively way, he found himself close to a blue and silver sleigh, which he recognized as Margaret’s. This light vehicle was modelled in the spreading shape of a carriage-body of the time of Louis XV., and was mounted, or rather set down upon runners, so that it was easy to look, without any effort whatever, directly through the glasses, which were now slightly incrusted by frost. Supposing, of course, that Margaret was upon the rocky audience gallery with her companions, Christian did not expect to find her within. Still he looked, all the same, and, to his surprise, beheld her in her usual costume, and without a mask. A little indisposed, or pretending to be so, she had remained alone, and was watching the race through the door of the sleigh. The driver had taken a place a little aside from the rest, and had turned the sleigh in such a way as to give Margaret a good view of the course; and this also enabled Christian to gaze at Margaret and to be quite near her, without being seen by the rest of the company, who were, besides, absorbed in gazing at the race.
He would not have ventured to speak to her, and he took pains to assume a careless attitude, as if his being there was quite accidental, when she suddenly lowered the glass to speak to him. He was still holding the head-gear of the horse, and she took him for a servant.
“Tell me, my friend,” she said, in a low voice, though without any affectation, “who is that man in a black mask like yours, who just passed, and who is racing now? It is your master, is it not, Christian Waldo?”
“No, mademoiselle,” replied Christian, in French, and without changing his voice or accent, “I am Christian Waldo!”
“Ah, mon Dieu! how fortunate!” replied the young girl, with an intonation of joy that she could not repress; and lowering her voice still more, for Christian had come close up to the door, “is it you, M. Christian Goefle? What suggested to you to assume that character this evening?”
“Perhaps it was in order to remain here without compromising my uncle,” he replied.