Stellan stood there with twitching face and a queer helpless movement of his right hand. What was the matter, were his nerves already giving way? “Well, of course, one does not lead a life like mine without being punished for it,” he muttered. “Strange that it comes like this in the stillness and not in the balloon out there over the sea, for instance. …”
He took a few steps but halted again suddenly amongst the sunny patches on the hard dry road. The thought that she, Elvira Lähnfeldt, was now riding by Manne’s side irritated him like a noxious poison. He saw her suddenly in the light of anxious and trembling hope. He saw her as she had sat in the sunshine, light, straight, elegant on her nervous jet black horse. Her assurance and her recklessness were thorns in his side. For a moment he found her really beautiful and desirable in her cool refinement. The brittle, overstrung elements in her character seemed to him to be in wonderful harmony with the beautiful autumn day. Fancy if he might lead a calm and exquisite life together with this child of luxury and taste with her the joys of a satisfied ambition! Even the thought of her secret infirmity seemed to him at this moment an additional refinement, a promise of a painless, concentrated life of pleasure.
Stellan pulled himself up as if at a word of command. “Damn it, I am not falling in love, I hope,” he thought. But the next moment his thought was: “No, dash it all, the fact is I have not slept for several nights!” He struck his leg with his stick: “Keep cool! If you get sentimental, all is lost. She is nothing but a whimsical and obstinate child and you must conquer her through her whims and her obstinacy.”
For a moment Stellan felt his head swim and the ground give way under his feet. This made him doubly reckless. Partly from a kind of cruel sensuousness and partly to give himself courage, he began in imagination to undress her and lay bare her infirmity. “It is not the softest women who are the weakest,” he thought. “With all her arrogance and all her sport she is really a poor, delicate, and enfeebled creature. She is suffering from the disease of wealth, the sapping of strength of those who do not need to do anything for their living. And she can’t have children. The future is cut out of her body. Whence can she derive any strong instincts difficult to conquer? No, she is really a very easy victim to one who is wise and reckless. …”
Stellan already smiled to himself. “No, my dear Manne, you are too good natured,” he thought. “Even from behind one can see when you are lying. …”
Then he hurried in to dress for dinner.
The evening of that same day, Stellan and Manne were standing out in the moonlight on the narrow balcony that ran outside their two rooms on the first floor. The host and hostess had already withdrawn and everything was quiet in the big house behind them.
Stellan scrutinized his old friend. Manne’s face was pale over his big white shirt front. There was really not much left of the old irrepressible Manne von Strelert.
“The old man isn’t exactly exciting,” Stellan mumbled, pointing with his thumb towards the house. Manne answered with unusual vehemence:
“Why can’t he realize that he is behind the times with his aristocracy! That sort of thing originated in the middle ages, damn it all! And how he chews my poor ‘Baron.’ Heavens above, it makes me wish I were a grocer.”
Stellan was amazed that Manne should get excited so easily. He felt a strange cold satisfaction and continued pitilessly:
“My dear Manne, you have not much respect for your prospective father-in-law.”
Manne started as if he had been struck. He was unguarded and had no repartee ready. He put his hand on Stellan’s arm and mumbled almost tenderly:
“Stellan … don’t let us talk about that any more. …”
For a moment they stood silent, looking out into the blue shimmering night which was full of small fluttering creatures. Below them the apple trees in the orchard were bowed down with fruit. Further away a thin veil of mist lay over a meadow in which were some grazing cows whose white spots shone like newly washed clothes in the moonlight. And beyond the bright edging of yellow reeds the bay of Lake Mälar lay dreaming with a narrow silver streak upon it that leapt into life when a breeze passed. Still further there were reflections of the moon constantly appearing and disappearing where the water seemed to repose as calm as a mirror but was all the same stirred by a faint ground swell.
The whole atmosphere seemed full of the delicious coolness of rich ripe fruits, and full of the peace and calm of possession and ownership.
“Fancy that there are people who lead quiet and happy lives,” mumbled Manne.
Stellan imitated his tone:
“Yes, why are we not innocent vegetarians, feeding on carrots and staring at the moon. … Nonsense! Manne! Nonsense! There are people who lead dull lives, and people who
