“It is true that he looks like a spectre,” said Olga; “but no matter, he is handsome in spite of his age, and he has a strange power of fascination. I dreamed about him all last night. I was frightened, and yet it was a pleasant fear. Can you explain that?”
“It is perfectly simple,” replied Margaret, “the baron is a famous alchemist; he knows how to make diamonds. Now you told us this morning that you would sign a compact with the devil for diamonds.”
“You are wicked, Margaret! Suppose I should tell others how you talk about the baron, and it should come to his ears; you would be vexed enough, I wager.”
“Do you think so, Monsieur Goefle?” said Margaret to Cristiano.
“No,” he replied. “Why should angels care for diamonds? have they not the stars?”
Margaret blushed, and turned to the young Russian:
“My dear Olga,” she said, “I implore you tell the baron yourself that I cannot endure him. You will be doing me a great service. Stay! I will prove my gratitude. There is the bracelet that you wanted so much! Make a quarrel between me and the baron, and I will agree to give it to you.”
“Oh, dear me! but what will your aunt say?”
“I will tell her that I have lost it, and you must not wear it while you are here—no questions will be asked. See, the baron is returning! They are going to dance another minuet, and he is coming to invite me; but I shall refuse. My aunt is talking politics with the Russian ambassador, and will not see me. Stay by me, and he will have to ask you.”
In fact, the baron came forward, and renewed his invitation with a sepulchral grace. Margaret trembled in every limb when he held out his hand to take hers.