“There is no danger. Every one here pretends to speak French, but there are not ten persons out of a hundred who can understand it. Besides, what I have just said, I am in the habit of saying freely. I discovered long ago that it is the best policy to make your opinions feared. For my part, I shout upon the housetops that Sweden is done for. Let those who object prove the contrary.”
Although Cristiano did not belong to any nation, although he knew nothing either of his country or family, he felt indignant to hear a Swede so impudently selling his nationality, and he tried to see the features of the man who could talk so; but his attention was suddenly diverted by the bustling, awkward approach of an eccentric individual, who was running about from group to group with the activity of a man who is taking pains to do the honors of the entertainment. This individual was dressed in a gaudy red coat, very richly embroidered, and decorated with the Swedish order of the polar star. His wig was frizzed magnificently, in the very worst style, and was much too high for the fashion; while his enormous cuffs of superb lace were more suggestive of luxury than neatness. In other respects he was old, ugly, petulant, and whimsical; slightly hump-backed, very lame, and completely cross-eyed. This last defect gave him, at a first glance, a wicked expression, and Cristiano concluded that this disagreeable original must be one and the same person with Margaret’s absurd and hateful suitor.
To avoid being obliged to introduce himself, and keep up his pretended relationship with M. Goefle, whose name he had assumed unscrupulously and without danger in his interview with the major-domo, Cristiano prudently withdrew. He resolved now to go from room to room until he had seen the young countess, even if he should be obliged to retire immediately, without speaking to her. He imagined that the hump-backed chatelain had looked at him with a good deal of curiosity, but he made his way skilfully through a group of persons who were talking near a door, and flattered himself that he had escaped in time.
He walked along for several minutes, not exactly in a crowd (the place was so large that the guests did not look very numerous), but amid lively groups, which he did not have leisure to observe attentively. Fearing to be questioned before he could find Margaret, he passed with a preoccupied manner and proud expression—which he assumed all the more because he felt his audacity ready to fail him. And yet, whether from curiosity about a guest that no one knew, or because of their admiration for his fine presence and remarkable face, people everywhere seemed inclined to speak to him, or at least to receive his advances favorably. But Cristiano was feeling a sort of vertigo that made him misunderstand the affable glances and good-humored smiles that were bestowed upon him. He hurried along, therefore, without pretending to disguise that he was seeking some one; to the persons who made way before him, he bowed with an easy grace that was natural to him, but without daring to look at them closely.
At last, on returning to the hunting-gallery, as it was called, he saw two ladies, in whom he immediately recognized the blond fairy whom he had seen at Stollborg an hour before, and her governess. Mademoiselle Potin’s simple dress, timid and refined manner, and a something about her unmistakably French, left no doubt as to her identity. This completed the first part of the little romance that Cristiano had planned. He was at the chateau, he had found no sort of difficulty in getting admitted, he had avoided the observation and questions of the master of the house; and, lastly, he had found Margaret under the kind protection of her confidante. But this was not all. He had still to approach the young countess, or attract her attention, and find some means of renewing their acquaintance on a new footing.
The second part of the romance opened in rather an alarming way. Just as Cristiano, who hoped that a look of Margaret’s would inspire him, was trying to catch her eye, he heard an unequal step clamping along behind him, and a shrill, squeaking voice stopped him short with these words:
“Monsieur! Stranger! stranger! Where are you going so fast?”
The adventurer turned, and found himself face to face with the deformed, cross-eyed old man, whom he thought he had so successfully avoided. It was literally face to face, for the lame man, who was rushing in pursuit of him, could not change his gait quickly enough, and almost fell into his arms. Cristiano might have fled, but that would have been to lose everything; he faced it out boldly, and replied:
“I beg a thousand pardons, baron; you are the very person I was looking for.”
“Ah, indeed!” said the lame man, holding out his hand with sudden cordiality; “I thought as much. I remarked your face among all the others. ‘That is an educated man,’ I said to myself; ‘some learned traveller, a serious person, a mind, in a word, and certainly I am the pole which always attracts such magnets,’ Well, here I am, at your service. It gives me pleasure to devote myself to you. I love young people when they are studious, and you can ask me all the questions that you want to have solved.”