Part 4 (2/2)

The moment the crowd comprehended this, it became silent, so silent that the birds could be heard singing in the trees. And heard, too, the dull, distant sound from the giant town, which never ceases, borne hither by the breeze. Its monotonous tone underlay the twitter of the birds.

Strange it was, but the horses of the carriages drawn up by the roadside stood as intent as the human beings; they did not stir a foot.

The frantic pair reach the man in the middle of the avenue. He turns with the speed of an arrow in the direction they are going, and runs along with them, flinging himself against the side of the horse next him....

”It is he!” cried Alice, deathly pale, and gripping Mary so violently that they were both on the point of toppling over. Women's screams resounded wild and shrill, the deeper roars of the men following. He was now hanging on to the horse. Alice closed her eyes. Mary turned away.

Was he running, or was he being dragged? Stop them he could not!

Again a few seconds of terrible silence; only the dogs and the horses'

hoofs were heard. Then a short cry, then thousands, then jubilation, wild, endless jubilation--handkerchiefs waving, and hats and parasols.

The crowd burst into the Avenue again from both sides like a flood. The s.p.a.ce by the gate was filled in an instant. The frenzied animals stood trembling, in a lather of foam, close to Alice's carriage. Mary saw a grey-clad Englishman, an erect old man with a white beard and a tall hat; she saw a young lady hanging on his arm, and she heard him say: ”Well done, young man!” A roar of laughter followed. And not till now did she see him who had evoked it--still gripping the horse's nostrils, hatless, waistcoat torn, hand bleeding, his perspiring, excited face at this moment turned laughingly towards the Englishman. At exactly the same time the man caught sight of Alice, who was still standing on the seat of her carriage. He instantly deserted horses, carriage, Englishman, and forced his way through the crowd towards her.

”Dear people, get me out of this!” he said quickly, in the broadest of ”Eastern” Norwegian. Before Alice had time to answer, or even to step down from the seat, and long before the groom could swing himself down from the box, he had opened the carriage door and was standing beside them. He handed first Alice and then her friend down from the seat. Then he said to the coachman in French:

”Drive me home as soon as you can move. You remember the address?”

”Yes, Monsieur le Capitaine,” replied the coachman, touching his hat respectfully, with a look of admiration.

As Frans Roy turned to sit down, his face contracted, and he exclaimed, catching hold of his foot: ”Oh!----the devil! that brute must have trodden on me. I never felt it till now.”

As he spoke, he met Mary's large, astonished eyes; he had not looked at her before, not even when he was a.s.sisting her down from the seat. The change in his expression was so sudden and so extremely comical that both ladies burst out laughing. Frans raised his bleeding hand to his hat--and discovered that he had no hat. Then he laughed too.

The coachman had in the meantime manoeuvred them a few yards forwards, and they were beginning to turn.

”I don't suppose I need tell you who she is?” laughed Alice.

”No,” answered Roy, looking so hard at Mary that she blushed.

”Good heavens! Think of your daring to do that!” It was Alice who spoke.

”Oh! It's not so dangerous as it looks,” he replied, without taking his eyes off Mary. ”There's a trick in it. I've done it twice before.” He was speaking to Mary alone. ”I saw at once that only one horse had lost its head; the other was being dragged along. So I went for the mad one.--Goodness! what a sight I am!” He had not discovered till now that his waistcoat was in rags, that his watch was gone, and that blood was dripping from his hand. Mary offered him her handkerchief. He looked at the delicate square of embroidery and then at her again: ”No, Miss Krog; that would be like st.i.tching birch-bark with silk.”

Roy lived quite near the iron gate, to the right, so they arrived in a few moments. Thanking them heartily, and without offering his bleeding hand, he jumped out. Whilst he limped across the pavement, erect, huge, and the carriage was turning, Alice whispered in English: ”If one could only have a model like that, Mary!”

Mary looked at her in surprise: ”Well--is it not possible?”

Alice looked back at Mary, still more surprised: ”Nude, I mean.”

Mary almost started from her seat, then bent forward and looked straight into Alice's face. Alice met her eyes with a teasing laugh.

Mary leaned back and gazed straight in front of her.

On account of the injury to his foot, Frans Roy had to keep quiet for some days. The first time he called on Alice, Mary, according to agreement, was sent for. But she felt so strangely agitated that she dared not go. Next time curiosity, or whatever the feeling was, brought her. But she came late, and hardly had she looked him in the face again before she wished that she had not come. There was an intensity about him which the fine lady felt to be intrusive, almost insulting. Her whole being was like a surging sea; she followed him with her eyes and with her ears; her thoughts were in a whirl, and so was her blood. This must pa.s.s over soon, she thought. But it did not.

Alice's entrancement--love, to call it by the right name--audible and visible in every word, every look, added to her confusion. Was he really so ugly? That broad, upright forehead, these small, sparkling eyes, the compressed lips and projecting chin, produced in conjunction an impression of unusual strength; but the face was made comical by there being no nose to speak of. Very comical, too, was most of his conversation. He was in such high spirits and so full of fun and fancies that the rattle never ceased. His manners were not overbearing; on the contrary, he was politeness itself, attentive, at times quite the gallant. What overpowered was his forcefulness. Force spoke in his voice and glanced from his eyes. But the body, too, played its part--the strong hand, the small, foot, compact, the shoulders, the neck, the chest--these spoke too, they insisted, they demonstrated. One could not escape from them for a moment. And the talk never ceased.

Mary was unaccustomed to any style of conversation except that of international society--light talk of wind and weather, of the events of the day, of literature and art, of incidents of travel--the whole at arm's length. Here everything was personal and almost intimate. She felt that she herself acted upon Frans like wine. His intoxication increased; he let himself go more and more. This excited her too much; it gave her a feeling of insecurity. As soon as politeness allowed of it, she took leave, nervous, confused, as a matter of fact in wild retreat. She promised herself solemnly that she would never go back again.

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