He at once began telling Mamselle Lovisa about his servant, Inga, and her constant quarrels and fights with the peasants who owned the farm where he lived. He knew that such petty gossip amused his sister-in-law, and did not fail to observe that she presently poured herself a cup of coffee so as to keep him company.
Dusk had fallen while they chatted over their coffee cups, a light was brought and placed on the round table over by the sofa, soon after which Fru Lagerlöf appeared.
She had not conquered her feeling of aversion, and it was a cool reception the Colour-Sergeant got from her; she barely touched his hand, but did not speak, and then sat down to her work.
The Colour-Sergeant, who calmly went on talking to Mamselle Lovisa, quickly changed the topic of conversation. He told about some strange cases of sickness among the people and the animals on the farm, which he had succeeded in curing.
Here was something that interested Fru Lagerlöf; it was in her line. Before she knew it, she had been drawn into the conversation.
Finally the Lieutenant came in and sank into his rocker. At first he was silent and depressed. But now, without anyone’s quite knowing how it came about, the conversation drifted in another direction. It carried back to old Karlstad, where the Colour-Sergeant was born and the Lieutenant went to school, and of which the latter loved to talk. Then it swung up to Stockholm, and took in Emilie Högquist, Jenny Lind, and much else of a by-gone day that was beautiful and memorable. At last they fell to telling old Värmland tales, and the evening passed so quickly they were all astonished when the maid came in to lay the table for supper.
The amazing thing about it all was that when Colour-Sergeant von Wachenfeldt related any of his personal experiences he invariably stood out as the wisest and most prudent man one could wish to meet. That he had taken part in many adventures and exploits was true enough, but he had always played the rôle of the counselling friend who helped stupid folk out of their scrapes.
Just to mention the Wästfelts of Angersby: what a staff he had been to these nice, childish persons! Particularly at the time when the son’s intended threw him over and announced her engagement to another. No man ever spoke with greater veneration of his mother or his wife. Such a model son and devoted husband all might wish to have. He had always talked sensibly to young women, smoothed out lovers’ quarrels, and welded together marriage bonds that threatened to break asunder. All the unhappy ones had made a confidant of him, and he had never betrayed them. He had even saved men seized with the gambling fever, had talked them to rights and reminded them of their duties.
After supper, when Von Wachenfeldt had limped down to his room, Lieutenant Lagerlöf, his wife and sister sat staring at each other—dumbfounded.
“Oh, that Wachenfeldt!” the Lieutenant exclaimed. “He’s a wonder; he knows more than all of us put together.”