“This unfortunate was not a madman,” replied the workman. “He has been looking out for an opportunity to be alone with you for three days. We watched him, and saw what he wanted to do. We let down another bucket at a venture; and as for the one he is in, it is a bucket spoiled, that is all about it!”
Christian knew that these rough miners were in the habit of taking the law into their own hands, and that they dealt out to criminals summary and terrible justice.
He felt the more regret and anxiety about what had happened, because he knew, also, that people who enter this subterranean world when rather advanced in years, are sometimes seized with fits of involuntary and ungovernable fury. He descended into the mine again with Stangstadius, who claimed, with good reason, to have a professional knowledge of such accidents. Two of the miners went down with them, to investigate, they said, but in reality to remove the corpse, so as to avoid being obliged to give any explanation to the inspectors of the mine.
“Faith,” said Stangstadius, when they had examined the miserable body by the light of their torches, “he is done for! He was not so lucky as I! By heavens! I declare I must draw up a report on the use of ropes in descending buckets in mines. These accidents are too frequent—when I think that even I myself—”
“Monsieur Stangstadius!” cried Christian, “look at this man. Do you not know him?”
“By heavens, it is a fact!” replied Stangstadius; “it is Master Johan, the ex-major-domo of Waldemora. Oh then, there is no great harm done! He confessed in prison; it was this very fellow who assassinated poor Baron Adelstan, in former years—à propos! yes, your father, my dear Christian. This Johan was once a miner in Falun, and he was a great scoundrel. It appears that he made his escape from his last prison, but it was written in his destiny that he was to perish by the rope.”
Delighted with this bon-mot, M. Stangstadius returned with Christian to the upper world, while the workmen, after having thrown the corpse into a deserted pit, well known to them, in the deepest part of the works, set quietly to work to mend the bucket. Christian, who had a room in a little house in the village, ran thither to change his dress. He found a letter awaiting him that had just been brought by a courier; it was from M. Goefle.
“All is saved!” he wrote; “the king is good, as I told you, but not weak, as I thought. He is a gallant fellow, who—but you will have time enough to hear about that. Make all speed! Be at Waldemora on the twelfth; you will find one of your friends there, and hear some good news.
“Until a speedy meeting, I am, my dear baron,” etc.
Christian did not say a word about this letter to his friends, with whom he took supper at the parsonage of the minister of Roraas, where the minister of Waldemora and his party had been entertained with cordial hospitality. After supper, he found an opportunity of being alone with Margaret and her governess. He was bolder than he had ever been. He dared to speak of love. Mademoiselle Potin wanted to interrupt him, but Margaret, in her turn, interrupted her friend.