“Christian, Christian!” he said, shaking his head, “do not torment yourself by dwelling on this nightmare. No, no; you are not the son of Baron Olaus! I would stake putting my hand in the fire on that.”
“And yet,” replied Christian, “is it not true that there is a certain resemblance between his features and mine? When he had fainted, and while his blood was dropping on the snow, his cruel and sardonic face assumed the expression of supreme repose which is given by death, and I gazed upon him in terror. No man, it is true (or so it seems to me), at least unless he has passed all his life before a mirror, or is a portrait-painter, can have a very exact idea of his own appearance; but still his face seemed familiar to me in a vague sort of way, and gradually it began to appear like my own. I had the same feeling when I saw him for the first time. I did not say to myself, ‘I have seen him somewhere;’ I said, ‘I know him, I have always known him.’”
“Well, well,” said M. Goefle, “and I too, by heavens! when I saw you the first time, noticed the same thing. And now again, at this very moment, when your face is serious and abstracted, I recognize, if not a resemblance, at least a similarity of outline that is striking—extraordinary. But it is precisely that, my dear friend, which makes me tell you: ‘No, you are not his son!’”
“Really, M. Goefle, I do not understand you at all.”
“Oh! that is not your case alone! I don’t understand myself. And yet I have an idea, a fixed idea!—If that obstinate Stenson would only speak! But it was all in vain that I tormented him again to-day for two hours; he told me nothing of the slightest importance. Either he begins to wander at moments, or he pretends resolutely to be deaf and abstracted, when he does not wish to answer. If I had heard of this Karine, and had known that she was mixed up in our affairs, I might, perhaps, have drawn something out of him, at least in regard to her. You say that the danneman’s son pretends that she could tell a great many secrets if she chose. Unluckily, she also is crazy, it seems, or else so intimidated and enfeebled that she is afraid to confess! However, it is absolutely necessary that we succeed in clearing up our doubts, for either I am a fool, Christian, or you are now in your own country, and perhaps are upon the point of discovering who you are. Come, then! think, help me! that is, listen to me. Your appearance at the new chateau has caused a great deal of trouble and anxiety there, and you must know—”
At this moment some one knocked at the door, after having tried in vain to open it without knocking. M. Goefle, unobserved by Christian, had cautiously drawn the bolt. Christian was going to open the door, when M. Goefle stopped him.
“Go under the staircase,” he said, “and leave me to manage this business.”
Christian, who was exceedingly preoccupied, obeyed mechanically, and M. Goefle went to open the door, but without allowing the unexpected visitor to enter. It was Johan.
“You again!” he said curtly, and in a severe tone. “What do you want, Monsieur Johan?”
“Excuse me, Monsieur Goefle, I want to speak to Christian Waldo.”