[IV.]
THE baron was certainly not fond of dancing, and his corpulence was by no means calculated to help him cut pigeon-wings; but in the “court-dances” which were usual at that period it was customary, and considered the proper thing to do, for even the gravest persons to take a part. The baron, who had been a widower for a long time, had given scarcely any entertainments during the life of his lawful heir; but when it became apparent that his name was in danger of perishing with him, and that his titles and estates would pass to a branch of his family which he hated, he had promptly resolved to marry again as early as possible; and, in choosing a wife, he had made up his mind to select, not a suitable and agreeable companion, for he felt no need of such a person, but some healthy young girl from whom he might expect children. He had accordingly furnished his mansion in a luxurious style, and had assembled together the ladies of the province, with the sole design of placing his baronial coronet upon the head of the prettiest among them who should be so kind as to offer to wear it.
The Countess Elfride had thought herself sure of the prize, but her plans had failed. The elderly suitor opened his eyes to the fact that he had been made to look ridiculous, and swore to be revenged both upon aunt and niece. Moreover, to this oath, which he registered in his mind with much promptitude, he appended a firm resolve not to be deceived twice; but, without admitting the interference of any third party, to offer himself to the first young lady of good family who should receive him with a sufficient degree of cordiality. This person turned out to be Olga, as he felt convinced when that young lady proceeded to tell him, in a confidential whisper, how Margaret had made over to her all right, title, and interest in his affections. She confided this pretty story to him with an assumed air of innocence and candor, as if it were the prattle of a child; and, really, she was a child in many respects, though none the less a woman, at once possessed and made cunning by ambition. The baron, who was by no means wanting in penetration, kept up the joke as if he saw nothing more in it; but, at the end of the dance, instead of taking Olga to her seat, he offered her his arm, and led her into the gallery, whose great extent rendered it quite suitable for confidential interviews. There, taking her burning hands between his icy cold ones, he said coldly:
“Olga, you are young and beautiful, but you are poor, and of too high rank to marry a handsome young fellow of low birth. It rests with you to turn your jest into earnest. I offer you my title and a brilliant position. Answer me seriously and without delay, or otherwise dismiss this subject forever from your mind.”
Olga was really young, beautiful, poor, vain, and ambitious. She took time by the forelock, and accepted at once.
“Very good,” observed Olaus, kissing her hand, “I thank you. Excuse me if I say not a word further. I should make myself ridiculous if I should undertake to talk to you about love, for you would imagine that I think myself a person who can be loved. We will be married—that is settled; and we both of us have decisive reasons for this resolution—that is certain. In the meanwhile, in case you really desire this marriage, I must request you to keep it an absolute secret for some days, above all from the Countess Margaret and her aunt. Can you promise me this? Remember, any indiscretion would break off our engagement.”
Olga had too much at stake not to give the required promise in good faith; and the baron handed her back to the great drawing-room.
Their absence had been so brief, that, even if observed, no particular conclusion could have been drawn from it. Yet the Countess d’Elveda felt uneasy at it, and went to find out what had become of her niece.
“Do not annoy yourself,” remarked Olga, “she was here this very moment.”
“She is hiding herself—she is still obstinate about dancing.”