“Monsieur Goefle,” resumed the latter, encouraged by the respectful attitude of the pretended lawyer, “now that you have seen my face, which I hope is not that of a wicked person, I must tell you my name. You will know it perfectly well. But it distresses me to see you standing, when I am seated upon the only arm-chair in the room. I know the respect that is due to a man of your worth—I was going to say of your age, for I have always thought (I don’t know why) that you were very old; while, on the contrary, you seem younger than the baron.”
“You flatter me,” replied Cristiano, pulling his furred cap, with its ear-pieces, down over his eyes and cheeks; “I am old, very old! It is only the tip of my nose that can appear young, and you must excuse me for not uncovering in your presence. Your visit surprised me; I had taken off my wig, and must hide my bald crown as I can.”
“Don’t speak of it, Monsieur Goefle, and please to sit down.”
“With your permission I will remain standing near the stove, on account of my gout, which pains me,” replied Cristiano, who was standing with his head in the shadow, while the feeble light of the only candle was thrown entirely upon his visitor. “To whom have I the honor—”
“Yes, yes,” she replied eagerly. “Oh! you know me well, although you have never seen me. I am Margaret.”
“Indeed!” cried Cristiano, in a tone that signified, “I know no more than I did before.”
Happily, the young girl was impatient to explain herself.
“Yes, yes,” she replied, “Margaret Elveda, the niece of your client.”
“Ah, the niece of my client—”
“Countess Elveda, sister of my father, the colonel, who was the friend of the unhappy baron!”