"Thank you, mademoiselle," said the old man, laying his spectacles on the book. "You must be tired."
"Not in the least," said Minna, on whose brow her companion had just breathed.
"Dear child, will you come to tea with me the evening after to-morrow?"
"Pastor Becker, will you bring her?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
Seraphitus nodded prettily, bowed to the old man, and left, and in a few minutes was in the courtyard of the Swedish Castle. An old servant of eighty came out under the wide veranda carrying a lantern. Seraphitus slipped off the snow-shoes with the grace of a woman, ran into the sitting-room, dropped on to a large divan covered with skins, and lay down.
"What will you take?" said the old man, lighting the enormously long tapers that are used in Norway.
"Nothing, David; I am too tired."
Seraphitus threw off the sable-lined pelisse, wrapped it about him, and was asleep. The old servant lingered a few minutes in loving contemplation of the strange being resting under his gaze, and whose sex the most learned man would have been puzzled to pronounce on. Seeing him as he lay, wrapped in his usual garment, which was as much like a woman's dressing-gown as a man's overcoat, it was impossible to believe that the slender feet that hung down, as if to display the delicacy with which nature had moulded them, were not those of a young girl; but the brow, the profile, seemed the embodiment of human strength carried to its highest pitch.