“Ah, Margaret!” said Christian, in a low voice, to the young countess, while M. Goefle, Martina, and Peterson consulted together to see what had best be done, “you came thus—”
“Ought I,” she replied, “to have allowed such a man as M. Goefle to be assassinated without trying to bring him assistance?”
“No, certainly,” replied Christian, who was too deeply and sincerely grateful to offend her delicacy, even by expressing his gratitude too warmly: “far otherwise; but your courage was none the less sublime. You might have met these bandits. Very few women would have carried their devotion, their humanity, so far as to have come themselves—”
“Martina came with me,” rejoined Margaret, eagerly.
“Martina is engaged to the lieutenant,” said Christian; “she would not, perhaps, have been willing to do so out of consideration—for M. Goefle.”
“I ask your pardon, Monsieur Christian, she would have come to help any one, no matter who, the moment that the life of a human being was at stake. But do not think of that now; can’t you learn whether these gentlemen are coming? for, when all is said, I cannot see that the danger is over.”
“No, in fact,” said Christian, collecting his ideas, “we are actually in danger. It is worth thinking about, now that you are here. My God! why did you come?”
And the young man, torn by conflicting emotions, was at the same time delighted because she had come, and tormented by the thought that she would, perhaps, be exposed to some terrible scene. Besides, would not the presence of these two young girls in Stollborg aggravate the difficulties of their situation in another respect? Might it not serve as the exact pretext that was wanting for an open invasion? Although Countess Elveda was a careless and heartless guardian, it was quite possible that she would notice her niece’s absence, if she had not already done so; that she would have her sought for, followed. Who could say?
“One thing is certain,” said Christian, “and that is that she must not be seen here.”
He thought of conducting her and her companion to Stenson’s gaard, where no one would have thought of looking for them; but the enemy, perhaps, were using Stenson’s dwelling, at this very moment, as a post of observation. In the midst of all these perplexities, Christian, who replied in a very distracted manner to M. Goefle’s agitated questions, formed a resolution that he did not impart to any one; this was to quit the apartment, and face the dangers by which he alone was threatened, either in the passages of the old chateau, or on the lake. For this purpose he provided himself with a lantern, so as to make as much show as possible in the fog, and went out without a word. He hoped that M. Goefle would not notice his absence immediately; but he had scarcely crossed the threshold of the door when Margaret started up, crying: