A little man, about forty, with a long, narrow face,
prominent cheek bones, and a thinnish black beard. His glance was sharp
and penetrating, but he wore strong glasses. His shirt studs, too, were
ornamented with a little five-pointed coronet, like the one on his card.
He stooped a little, and his thin hands were blue-veined, but the nails
were like yellow metal.
"Delighted, Herr Lieutenant. Have you been here long, may I ask?"
"A few months."
A pleasant man. Herr Mack asked him to tell us about his scales and
sea-things, and he did so willingly--told us what kind of clay there was
round Korholmerne--went into his room and fetched a sample of weed from
the White Sea. He was constantly lifting up his right forefinger and
shifting his thick gold spectacles back and forward on his nose. Herr
Mack was most interested. An hour passed.
The Baron spoke of my accident--that unfortunate shot. Was I well again
now? Pleased to hear it.
Now who had told him of that? I asked:
"And how did you hear of that, Baron?"
"Oh, who was it, now? Froken Mack, I think. Was it not you, Froken
Mack?"
Edwarda flushed hotly.
I had come so poor! for days past, a dark misery had weighed me down.
But at the stranger's last words a joy fluttered through me on the
instant.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108