“I did not stay at the old lake,” she said, “and the little idyl did not materialise.”
“No, no!” said Stellan. “Shall we play a game of écarté?”
And they did.
XI
THE SPANISH SAINT
One fine day in September Stellan Selamb, lieutenant of the Göta Guards, was out at field manœuvres at Lidingön with his platoon. They had already during the cool and clear morning hours practised advancing in open formation through the broken brushwood to the right of the main road, when he gave over the command to the sergeant and, consulting his map, began to climb a steep hill path to make an attack on his own. After some searching he found another new cross road which brought him to a large, new and somewhat strange looking house, which lay alone in the midst of the dense pine wood.
Stellan did not associate with architects and did not usually pay much attention to houses. But he was accustomed to safe old manor-houses which seemed to have grown out of the ground where they were stood. This house on the contrary looked as if it had fallen down from the sky with its dazzling white walls broken up in a fantastic way and its bright green roof! It was positively difficult to tell whether it was meant for a temple, a sanatorium, a museum or perhaps even an ordinary house. Anyhow Stellan hammered the antique knocker against a huge black church door densely studded with coarse nails.
A groom opened the door.
“The master is in bed, but I am to announce visitors all the same.”
He disappeared but returned at once with the message that if the lieutenant would look at the pictures for a moment his master would receive him. Stellan walked through several large rooms full of pictures, like picture galleries.