“What is happening at the chateau?” asked Christian, hoping to divert Margaret’s attention from himself. “I have not seen the baron here; I should have thought he would have been as easily recognized by his height, as Stangstadius by his gait.”
“He has shut himself up, under the pretence of pressing and unexpected business. That means that he is worse; no one is deceived by it. Everybody saw his mouth drawn to one side, and his eye distorted. Don’t you think he is an extraordinary man, after all, to battle so with death? He meant to have raced to-night, with the young men, and he would certainly have won the prize, he has such splendid horses! There is to be a bear-hunt to-morrow, and either the baron will be at the hunt and will kill his bear, or he will be buried before any one has thought of countermanding the sport. One is just as possible as the other. Does not that make the situation here very singular for all of us? It seems as if the Snow Man took pleasure in seeing how few friends he has, since we all go on amusing ourselves in his house, as if nothing were the matter.”
“But, Margaret, you admire his resolution, and he succeeds in producing, even upon you, the effect he desires.”
“My dear confidant,” said Margaret, gayly, “you must know that my aversion for the baron has almost entirely ceased. He has become quite indifferent to me; he is going to marry—but that is a secret that I discovered accidentally, and have promised to keep. He is not going to marry me, at all events, and I shall have the happiness of remaining free—and poor—”
“Poor! I thought you were at least very well off.”
“Well, it turns out that I have nothing. I have had a quarrel with my aunt to-day—as usual, about the baron; and she has declared that she would give me no portion, and that she should take possession of the little inheritance which my father left me; she claims to have a right to it on account of some loan that she made him, of I don’t know how many ducats. I did not understand anything about it, except that I am ruined!”
“Ah, Margaret!” exclaimed Christian, involuntarily, “why am I not rich and well born? Understand me,” he continued, taking her hand, for she started, and seemed inclined to throw herself upon the further seat of the sleigh, “this is not a declaration, I am not so audacious as to address you in any such way. It would be an act of madness in me, for I have nothing in the world, and neither family nor position. But you have permitted me to be your friend. May I not tell you that, if I were rich and noble, I would divide with you as I would with my sister?”
“Thank you, Christian,” answered Margaret, still trembling, although reassured; “I see how good your heart is, and I know how kindly you feel towards me. But why do you say that you have no family, when your uncle’s reputation is so high—”
She paused, and added, with a forced laugh:
“You must not suppose I meant to say—what certainly I had no thought of. But no, you will not think anything of the kind; you have too much good sense. You are straightforward and confiding, like me; and you will understand that, if I question you, it is because I am interested about your future prosperity—no matter who may share it with you. Tell me, then, why do you torment yourself about your birth, which many people would envy?”