Stellan made up his mind that she should hear something different.
He chose a moment when they were stopped by a floating bridge which was open to let pass a sand barge that was just being slowly towed through. His tone was as cold as possible:
“Miss Lähnfeldt, what would you say to a shoot in Africa?”
She really looked surprised.
“A shoot in Africa?”
“Yes, up the Nile, for instance. To shoot hippopotamuses, crocodiles, lions. You get a licence in Cairo and hire a boat, a comfortable houseboat, and a few niggers.”
“Well … yes … perhaps it would be an idea … since we can’t go to the moon. …”
“And how do you think I would be as manager and courier then?”
“Well … perhaps. …”
“Would you like to try it with me?”
“I am afraid it would be a bit difficult to arrange.”
“Not if we got married. …”
She suddenly looked straight at him, defiantly, nervously. Her voice was hard, almost shrill.
“I am … an invalid. …”
“And I am ruined. …”
A moment before Stellan had never meant to say anything of the kind; he only had a clear feeling that he must be absolutely unsentimental. But he did not regret it. A brutal sincerity may sometimes be the most refined of lies.
The barge had at last passed through and sailed on. Stellan continued in a different and more passionate tone:
“I don’t seek any repetition of my life’s former adventures. What is most exquisite in you, Elvira, is that you are … free. Heaven protect me from those women who only breathe the nursery. No, there is a different and more robust air about you, an air in which one can breathe. I have never dreamt of such courage in a woman as you showed up in the rigging of the balloon. I sincerely believe that we together might do something bold and great with our lives.”
“To begin with, we should make father furious,” she said in a voice that did not sound at all distressed at the prospect. Then she suddenly turned her horse and started off homewards at a sharp gallop.
Stellan followed silent and pale, with lips pressed tight together, without knowing what to think. It was exactly the same feeling as he had in the presence of the roulette ball. Through his head a ridiculous thought flashed. “Be bold and take your courage in both hands. I never talked about courage till I began to doubt it. And now just because I am afraid I shall fling down my courage as if it were the ace of trumps in the highest suit. It will be a continuation of yesterday’s little cheating game.”
And he felt how chill self-contempt was beginning to grow up out of the events of the night. …
Not until they had arrived at the broad steps did the whirling ball stop. Then the princess of the palace reined in her horse and graciously stretched out her hand with a quick nervous smile:
“Well, all right then. …”
Stellan did not kiss her riding glove. In front of the groom he bent quickly forward and pressed his lips to her cheek.
She kept her countenance.
“Well, one can still live, even with a little self-contempt,” he thought, when of her own accord she put her arm through his on the steps. He was right. Nothing really improves your chances better in the game of life.
Elvira was right in saying her father would be furious. The little man positively swelled with wounded dignity, when Stellan came to ask for his daughter’s hand. Elvira hastened to point out that she was of age and could do as she liked, but then he threatened to cast her off, to disinherit her. Yes, he would give all he possessed to the House of Nobles. She tore his heart to pieces when she reminded him in a dry tone that all he possessed came from her mother and that she had her own inheritance from her mother. To be the head of the noble family of Lähnfeldt, and to hear such words from a degenerate plebeian daughter was truly terrible. He summoned to his assistance all the great departed of the castle to fight his fight against his blind and irreverent daughter. He painted in wonderful colours the brilliant and distinguished future she was thoughtlessly flinging away. He threatened to descend on her wedding day into the big porphyry coffin in the crypt below the Church.
Goodness only knows if Elvira would have had the strength to struggle on, had not the old man’s mad and obstinate resistance suddenly received a blow. A few weeks later a scandal occurred in society that put the Count’s superstitious belief in the aristocrat to a severe test.
His own choice, Baron Manne von Strelert, Captain of the Horse Guards, had shot himself after having forged Count Lähnfeldt’s signature on a bill for twenty thousand crowns. Then the lord of Trefvinge at last gave in, sighing. Poor Manne had served Stellan even unto death. …
Where Manne had hidden those lost twenty thousand crowns was never quite cleared up. But amongst his fellow officers there was some talk about “The Glove,” having taken fine new business premises immediately after his death and having considerably increased her business.
Stellan was married at the end of November. There was a splendid ceremony in Church with many decorations and uniforms. Peter was promised higher interest on his loans on the condition that he was ill and absent from the celebrations.
The general opinion was that the bridegroom looked a little stiff and aged.
The pair set out immediately for Africa for their shoot.
While the rice pattered against the window of the reserved carriage decorated with flowers, people outside on the platform whispered to each other that there was not much risk in this couple penetrating into Africa, as everybody knew that nothing could happen to
