Stellan grew pale and came close up to his brother. It was as if he were abusing some obstinate labourer:
“You lout! You want to get hold of my last share in Selambshof! But I have already put them up another spout. Curse you, there are better and bigger creditors than you! Yes, I have nothing but debts, so my position is really excellent. The only hope for the creditors is that the bubble won’t burst. But do you think it will improve matters for a shabby old moneylender to come and hang on to my coat tails just as I am going up? No, get away and keep quiet and I will show you something to make you think.”
Stellan suddenly had an idea. He pushed aside the astonished and hesitating Peter without further ceremony and went straight towards the steps of the tennis pavilion.
There Miss Lähnfeldt was standing amidst a group of uniforms and allowed Manne von Strelert to pay her his court. Both had taken part in the quadrille on horseback and she was dressed in riding breeches, which at that time was something quite new and bold, and she stood there amongst all the men, slim and slight, but with her head held high and with a proud carriage.
Stellan ploughed his way through the group. Not a feature betrayed what kind of conversation he had just passed through. The lines round his mouth were gay and slightly cruel. He saluted, kissed her hand, and said aloud, so that everybody round them should hear:
“Miss Lähnfeldt, do you remember I promised you a sensation? Come up with me today.”
Miss Lähnfeldt wanted to appear a sportwoman. She cultivated to the best of her ability the Anglo-Saxon style. Thanks to persistent and expensive training she had really developed her little strength until she was considered a bold rider and a fairly good tennis player. She did not answer Stellan at once, but bit her lip and cast a glance at the officers round her. But Manne protested. One had no right to tempt charming ladies into the clouds, he thought. Charming ladies might get dizzy. …
Stellan looked gratefully at Manne, certain that his words would only egg her on. She was not a coward, or at least she was more vain than she was afraid. And a crowd is a bellows to vanity. Elvira Lähnfeldt was one of those women who are excited by a crowd. The thought of some kind of notoriety always occupied her thoughts. In every crowd the desire to be noticed, spoken of, praised and envied, worked like a stinging poison in her veins. When she now looked at the group around her it was in order to measure the effect of the proposal! It would surely create a sensation if she went up, a real sensation. …
She did not say “yes” straight out. She answered by the eternal feminine question:
“But what shall I put on?”
“My military fur coat,” said Stellan. “Besides, your riding costume is most suitable. But come along, it is twelve o’clock and the people are waiting.”
She took his arm and they stepped out into the open space. The group behind them applauded. Manne was teased at the cavalry being outdistanced by the air force. There were several people there who were interested in seeing the two friends’ position improved. The balloon was already filled. Stellan turned away a poor journalist who had had half a promise to be allowed to go up with him, and amidst a murmur of surprise from the crowd he lifted Miss Lähnfeldt very chivalrously over the edge of the gondola. But he did not give the order to let go at once. He did not grudge his partner a few moments of exquisite joy in the polite and encouraging exclamations of the gentlemen and the little cries of alarm from her lady friends.
Then the attendants let go the ropes and the balloon rose. There was a flutter of white handkerchiefs from the dark group below in the grey oval of the cycle course.
As you know, one need not rise very high before everything down below looks small.
“What mites,” said Miss Lähnfeldt. And her voice sounded a little malicious.
Stellan cast a side-glance at her in order to gauge the effect of the increasing depth beneath them. She looked down with an expression which seemed to say; “This is nothing much.”
“Wait a bit, my dear,” thought Stellan. “You will get as much as you can stand.” He had already made up his mind that this would not be a pleasure trip, but an adventure.
The wind was west southwest. The balloon had not had time to rise much before they were out over Lidingön. Below him Stellan saw the shining green roof of the Hills’ villa.
Hedvig … yes, he would have to try there too if everything else went wrong. If only Percy had been alive. … But Hedvig alone, no, there wasn’t much chance. …
The balloon began to sink very suddenly. One must always be careful when passing over forests, where the air is warmer and lighter. But Stellan purposely neglected to cast out any ballast till they almost swept over the tops of the trees. That was a trick that used to impress beginners. Stellan looked again at his partner. She was perhaps a little paler than before and held on a little more tightly to the edge of the gondola. But if he had hoped for any frightened screams and looks of anxious appeal he was doomed to disappointment.
“The balloon must manoeuvre badly,” she said.
Stellan flung out ballast, perhaps more than was necessary and they rose quickly into silent and radiant space over the bright and dazzling autumn coast landscape. It was really wonderfully beautiful with the spray of gold that the leafy trees made amongst the dark pines and the deep solemn September blue of the water in the bays—which to the far-penetrating gaze of those above shivered in iridescence of algæ-green, seaweed-brown and shimmering gneiss-red nearer inshore in the shallower water. In
