"No; but don't you think I will acknowledge my handwriting?" replied Bagger, quite earnestly.

This earnestness with reference to an obligation which no one understood became comical; and Bagger felt at the moment that he was on the brink of the ridiculous. Trying to collect himself, he said:

"Is it not an obligation we all have? Do not both bride and bridegroom acknowledge that long before they knew each other the obligation was present?"

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed the bridegroom.

"And the whirlwind, accident, the unknown power, brought them together so that the obligation was redeemed?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Let us, then," continued Bagger, "drink a toast to the wind, the accident, the moving power, unknown and yet controlling. To those of us who, as yet, are unprovided for and under forty, it will at some time undoubtedly bring a bride; to those who are already provided for will come the expected in another form. So a toast to the wind that came in here and flickered the lights; to the unknown, that brings us the wished for; and to ourselves, that we may be prepared to receive it when announced."

"Bravo!" exclaimed the bridegroom, looking upon his bride.

"Puh-h-h!" thought Bagger, seating himself with intense relief, "I have come out of it somewhat decently after all. The deuce take me before I again express a sentimentality."

How Counsellor Bagger that night could have fallen asleep, between memory, or longing and discontent, is difficult to tell, had he not on his arrival home found a package of papers, an interesting theft case.

He sat down instantly to read, and day dawned ere they were finished.

His last thought, before his eyelids closed, was,--Two years in the House of Correction.

III.

A month later, toward the close of September, two ladies, twenty or twenty-two years of age, were walking in a garden about ten miles from Copenhagen. Although the walks were quite wide, impediments in them made it difficult for the ladies to go side by side. The autumn showed itself uneven and jagged. The currant and gooseberry boughs, that earlier hung in soft arches, now projected stiffly forth, catching in the ladies' dresses; branches from plum and apple trees hung bare and broken, and required attention above also. One of the ladies apparently was at home there: this was evident partly from her dress, which, although elegant, was domestic, and partly by her taking the lead and paying honor, by drawing boughs and branches aside, holding them until the other lady, who was more showily dressed, had slipped past. On account of the hindrances of the walk there were none of those easy, subdued, familiar conversations, which otherwise so naturally arise when young ladies, acquaintances, or "friends," visit each other, and from the house slip out alone into garden or wood. An attentive observer meanwhile, by scrutinizing the physiognomy of both, would, perhaps, have come to the conclusion, that even if these two had been together on the most un.o.bstructed road, no confidence would have arisen between them, and would have suspected the hostess of trying to atone for her lack of interest, by being polite and careful. She was not strikingly handsome, but possessed of a fine nature, which manifested itself in the whole figure, and perhaps, especially, in the uncommonly well-formed nose; yet it was by peering into her eyes that one first obtained the idea of a womanhood somewhat superior to the generality of her s.e.x. Their expression was not to be caught at once: they told of both meditation and resolve, and hinted at irony or badinage, which works so queerly when it comes from deep ground. The other lady was "burgherly-genteel," a handsome, cultivated girl, had certainly also some soul, but yet was far less busy with a world in her own heart than with the world of fashion. It was about the world, the world of Copenhagen, that Miss Brandt at this moment was giving Miss Hjelm an account, interrupted by the boughs and branches, and although Miss Hjelm was not, nun-like, indifferent either to fashions or incidents in high life, the manner in which Miss Brandt unmistakably laid her soul therein, caused her to go thus politely before.

"But you have heard about Emmy Ibsen's marriage?" asked Miss Brandt.

"Yes, it was about a month ago, I think."

"Yes, I was bridesmaid."

"Indeed!" said Miss Hjelm, in a voice which atoned for her brevity.

"The party was at the shooting-ground."

"So!" said Miss Hjelm again, with as correct an intonation as if she had learned it for "I don't care." "Take care, Miss Brandt," she added, stooping to avoid an apple-branch.

"Take care?--oh, for that branch!" said Miss Brandt, and avoided it as charmingly and coquettishly as if it had been living.

"It was very gay," she added, "even more so than wedding-parties commonly are; but this was caused a good deal by Counsellor Bagger."

"So!"

"Yes, he was very gay ... I was his companion at table.

"Ah!"

"Oh, only to think! at the table he stands up declaring that he is engaged."

"Was his lady present?"

"No, that she was not, I think. Do you know who it was?"

"No, how should I know that, Miss Brandt?"

"The whirlwind!"

"The whirlwind?"

"Yes. He said that he, as a young man, in a solemn moment had sent his love letter or his promise out with the wind, and he was continually waiting for an answer: he had given his promise, was betrothed!--Ou!"

"What is it?" asked Miss Hjelm, sympathetically. The truth was, the young hostess at this moment had relaxed her polite care, and a limb of a gooseberry-bush had struck against Miss Brandt's ankle.

The pain was soon over; and the two ladies, who now had reached the termination of the walk, turned toward the house side by side, each protecting herself, unconscious that any change had occurred.

"But I hardly believe it," continued Miss Brandt: "he said it perhaps only to make himself conspicuous, for certain gentlemen are just as coquettish as ... as they accuse us of being."

Miss Hjelm uttered a doubting, "Um!"

"Yes, that they really are! Have you ever seen any lady as coquettish as an actor?"

"I don't know any of them, but I should suppose an actress might be."

"No: no actress I have ever met of the better sort was really coquettish. I don't know how it is with them, but I believe they have overcome coquettishness."

"But you think, then, Counsellor Bang is coquettish?"

"Not Bang--Bagger. Yes; for although he said he had this romantic love for a fairy, he often does court to modest earthly ladies. He is properly somewhat of a flirt."

"That is unbecoming an old man."

"Yes; but he is not old."

"Oh!" said Miss Hjelm, laughing: "I have only known one war counsellor, and he was old; so I thought of all war counsellors as old."

"Yes; but Counsellor Bagger is not war counsellor, but a real Superior Court Counsellor."

"Oh, how earnest that is! And so he is in love with a fairy?"

"Yes: it is ridiculous!" said Miss Brandt, laughing. During this conversation they had reached the house, and Miss Brandt complained that something was yet p.r.i.c.king her ankle. They went into Miss Hjelm's room, and here a thorn was discovered and taken out.

"How pretty and cosy this room really is!" said Miss Brandt, looking around. "In a situation like this one can surely live in the country summer and winter. Out with us at Taarback it blows in through the windows, doors, and very walls."

"That must be bad in a whirlwind."

"Yes--yes: still, it might be quite amusing when the whirlwind carried such billets: not that one would care for them; yet they might be interesting for a while."

"Oh, yes! perhaps."