“In Sweden, any one who has travelled has more influence than two or three ordinary mortals. And then, don’t you know that young girls don’t understand their own natures; that it is vanity that impels them to choose their lovers, and not sympathy; and that the man, consequently, whom they admire the most, is always the one who is most admired by others? Stay! there is my niece seated with some other young ladies, who certainly would be very glad of a chance to win the baron. That will do nicely. I will leave her there, and you can join the circle. To give you an opportunity to fulfil your promise, I will take the baron’s arm and walk up and down in full view of this solemn assembly. Seize the right moment.”
“But what will the baron think if he happens to notice me? He will set me down as an awkward boor, too ignorant either to ask any one to introduce me to him, or to introduce myself.”
“Don’t trouble yourself; I will make it all right. Besides, the baron will not see you; he is very short-sighted, and only recognizes people by their voices. When he hunts he wears glasses, and sees perfectly well; but he is still too much of an exquisite to use them in society. It is all settled. Away with you!”
In another moment Cristiano was passing among the groups of beautiful young ladies who were reposing between the dances. He introduced himself to one of these little coteries by saying something polite to Mademoiselle Potin, who was next the wall, and who, poor girl, was very much gratified at his courtesy. Margaret was delighted to see him among the young men who surrounded her companions, and the latter soon learned from her that he was “a young man of great promise, nephew of the celebrated Goefle, the intimate friend of her aunt.” Some of them turned up their noses, and thought it not at all the thing that a plebeian should venture to come and entertain them, among the young officers of the indelta,[3] who generally belonged to good families; but most of them welcomed him kindly, and thought him charming.
The fact is, that Cristiano, like a great many adventurers in this adventurous age, was charming. His style of beauty, also—a singular coincidence that he had not thought of explaining—was precisely that best calculated to please in this country. He was tall and well formed, fair, with a clear red and white complexion, with dark blue eyes and strongly marked eyebrows, as black as ebony, as were his long curved lashes and magnificent hair. Moreover, there was a something peculiar about him that attracted attention: a sort of foreign style, a suavity in his language and manners telling of the more civilized, or, at least, the more artistic circles to which he had belonged; a lingering perfume, as it were, of Italy and France. As soon as it was known that he had been brought up in Italy, he was overwhelmed with questions, to which he replied with so much good sense, frankness, and gayety, that after chatting for a little while, all these young mad-caps were crazy about him. Cristiano, although by no means a fop, was not at all surprised. He had been used to pleasing in other days, and when he resolved to indulge once more, at all costs, in an evening’s gayety, he knew, that unless his success should be seriously interfered with by some unexpected revelation, he would appear to better advantage than most of the young nobles and officers who were present.
In the meanwhile, the little Countess Elfride, who was leaning, or rather hanging upon the arm of the imposing Baron Olaus, had passed twice without catching Cristiano’s eye. The third time she coughed violently, and led the baron up to Margaret, while Cristiano, who understood, broke away from the bewildering group and fell back, to observe his host without attracting his attention.
Baron Olaus was a tall, stout man, and, in spite of his age, was still very handsome, but the deadly pallor and sinister impassibility of his countenance made it really appalling. His fixed look struck you like a blast of icy wind that takes the breath away, and the expression of his face when he smiled was extraordinarily sad and disdainful. As soon as he spoke to Margaret, Cristiano recognized him from his voice, which was disagreeably harsh and monotonous, as the very person who had been selling Sweden so cheap an hour before in his conferences with the Russian diplomatist. He recognized him also from his lofty stature and rich dark dress, which he had noticed while listening to him doing the honors of his country to the enemy.
“Have you fully determined not to dance, mademoiselle?” said the disagreeable baron to Margaret. “Are you suffering much?”
The countess did not give Margaret time to answer.
“Oh, it is nothing!” she said; “Margaret will dance soon.”