“No, my dear major,” said M. Goefle, putting his now useless mask into his pocket, while Stangstadius replaced his wig upon his head, “I only ran for honor; and since my honor, or rather that of my horse, has not been tarnished by the few seconds’ delay caused by that unlucky wig, I have nothing more to wish for. I am proud of Loki, and satisfied with myself. I should be still better contented,” he added, as he stepped out of the sleigh, “if I knew what had become of the poor fellow’s head-cover; he will catch cold.”
“Here it is,” said Christian in a low voice, approaching M. Goefle; “but since you have been recognized, I must take myself off at once, my dear uncle. It was well enough for Christian Waldo to have a masked servant, but in your case, it would be quite out of character.”
“No, no, Christian, I will not part with you!” said M. Goefle. “We will take a look at the lake from the top of the hogar, and then go back to Stollborg. Stay, we’ll give my horse to one of those peasants to hold, and then make the ascent. Take this side-path, and keep out of the way of the curious. A black mask, just now, is noticed by everybody; and I see, unless we make our escape, that we shall soon be surrounded and cross-questioned.”
[XI.]
WHILE Christian and M. Goefle adroitly escaped behind the mound, the main body of the company returned to the new chateau; the hogar was so steep, and the cold so great, that they would not venture to ascend it. And yet, in an excavation half way up, a sort of tent had been prepared, in which the revellers were expected to take punch; but the ladies had declined, and most of the gentlemen followed them. In about half an hour, when Christian and the lawyer were coming down from the platform, where the statue, too much heated by the flames of the resinous torches, was beginning to melt, they had the curiosity to look into this grotto, which had been hung and closed in with tarred cloths. They found nobody there but Larrson and his lieutenant. All the other young men, slaves either to their lady-loves, who had returned to the chateau, or to their horses, who were in danger of taking cold, had gone, or were about going. Osmund Larrson was an amiable young man, who tried with all his might to be a Frenchman in wit and manners, but who, fortunately for himself, was at heart devotedly patriotic. Lieutenant Erwin Osburn was one of those good-natured, blunt, decided characters, who are unable even to make an effort to produce any modification in themselves. He had all the qualities of an excellent officer and citizen, with the good-nature of a man who is in perfect health, and who does not trouble himself about what does not concern him. Larrson was his friend, his leader, his idol. He followed him like his shadow, and never so much as stirred a finger without his advice. He had even consulted him in the selection of a sweetheart.
As soon as the two friends saw M. Goefle, they hastened to lay hold of him, swearing that he should not leave the hogar until he had done them the honor to drink with them. The punch was ready, and only needed to be set on fire.
“I want to be able to say,” cried Larrson, “that I drank in the hogar of the lake on the nights of December 26th and 27th, with two men so celebrated in different professions as M. Edmund Goefle and Christian Waldo.”
“Christian Waldo!” said M. Goefle, “where are you going to find him?”
“There! behind you. He’s disguised like a poor devil, and masked; but it’s he, all the same. He has lost one of his great ugly gloves, and I recognize his white hand. I saw it at Stockholm, and observed it so attentively that I should know it again amongst a thousand! See now, M. Christian Waldo, you have a very handsome hand, but it has one peculiarity; the little finger of your left hand is slightly curved under, and you cannot quite straighten it, even when you hold your hand wide open. Do you not remember at Stockholm an officer who saw you rescue a little cabin-boy from three furious drunken sailors? It was down at the park; you had come out of your exhibition, and were still masked. Your servant had run away. The child would have been killed but for you. Do you remember it?”
“Yes, monsieur,” replied Christian; “you were the officer who passed. You drew your sword, and put the drunken rascals to flight, and then insisted upon taking me with you in your carriage. If it had not been for you I might have been killed.”