“What are you thinking about, my dear uncle?” said Christian, filling his glass. “Do you blame me for having thrown aside my incognito before these good friends?”
“By no means,” answered the lawyer; “and if you permit, I will repeat your story succinctly to these gentlemen, so as to convince them that they are right in admitting you to their friendship.”
“Yes, yes! the history of Christian Waldo!” cried the two officers. “It must be very curious; and if it ought to be kept secret, we swear upon our honor—”
“But it is too long,” said Christian. “I am going to stop here at least two days longer. Let us appoint a rendezvous where it will be safer and warmer.”
“Right,” said M. Goefle. “Gentlemen, come and see us at Stollborg to-morrow; we will have dinner or supper together.”
“But to-morrow,” replied the major, “is the bear-hunt. Will you not come, both of you?”
“Both? No; I am no hunter, and I don’t like bears. And it is not in Christian’s line, either. Suppose a bear should bite off one of his hands; he finds two none too many to work his marionettes. Show me your hand, Christian. That is a singular crook of your little finger. I never noticed it. It is from a hurt, is it not?”
“No,” said Christian; “I was born so.”
And holding out his left hand, he added:
“This is the most striking; but still, both my hands have the same defect in a slight degree. However, it gives me no sort of inconvenience.”