“What!” rejoined Schumacker; “what marriage?”
The appearance of a fourth speaker arrested the words on the lieutenant’s lips.
All three looked up. The prisoner’s moody features brightened, the lieutenant’s frivolous face grew grave, and Ethel’s sweet countenance, which had been pale and confused during the officer’s long soliloquy, again beamed with life and joy. She sighed heavily, as if her heart were eased of an intolerable weight, and her sad smile rested upon the new-comer. It was Ordener.
The old man, the girl, and the officer were placed in a singular position toward Ordener; they had each a secret in common with him, therefore each felt embarrassed by the presence of the other. Ordener’s return to the donjon was no surprise to Schumacker or Ethel, who were expecting him; but it amazed the lieutenant as much as the sight of the lieutenant astonished Ordener, who might have feared some indiscretion on the part of the officer in regard to the scene of the previous night, if the silence ordained by the etiquette of duelling had not reassured him. He could therefore only be surprised at seeing him quietly seated between his two prisoners.
These four persons could say nothing while together, for the very reason that they would have had much to say had they been alone. Therefore, aside from glances of intelligence and embarrassment, Ordener met with an absolutely silent reception.
The lieutenant burst out laughing.
“By the train of the royal mantle, my dear new-comer, here’s a silence by no means unlike that of the senators of Gaul when Brennus the Roman—Upon my honor, I have forgotten which were the Romans and which the Gauls,—the senators or the general. Never mind. Since you are here, help me to enlighten this worthy old gentleman as to the news. I was just about to tell him, when you made your sudden entry on the stage, about the famous marriage which is now absorbing both Medes and Persians.”
“What marriage?” asked Ordener and Schumacker with a single voice.
“By the cut of your clothes, sir stranger,” cried the lieutenant, clapping his hands, “I guessed that you came from some other world. Your present question turns my doubt to certainty. You must have landed only yesterday on the banks of the Nidder in a fairy-car drawn by two winged dragons; for you could not have travelled through Norway without hearing of the wonderful marriage of the viceroy’s son and the lord chancellor’s daughter.”
Schumacker turned to the lieutenant.