"
"Thank you, mademoiselle," said the old man, laying his spectacles on
his book; "you must be very tired."
"Oh, no," said Minna, and as she spoke she felt the soft breath of her
companion on her brow.
"Dear heart, will you come day after to-morrow evening and take tea
with me?"
"Gladly, dear."
"Monsieur Becker, you will bring her, will you not?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
Seraphitus inclined his head with a pretty gesture, and bowed to the
old pastor as he left the house. A few moments later he reached the
great courtyard of the Swedish villa. An old servant, over eighty
years of age, appeared in the portico bearing a lantern. Seraphitus
slipped off his snow-shoes with the graceful dexterity of a woman,
then darting into the salon he fell exhausted and motionless on a wide
divan covered with furs.
"What will you take?" asked the old man, lighting the immensely tall
wax-candles that are used in Norway.
"Nothing, David, I am too weary."
Seraphitus unfastened his pelisse lined with sable, threw it over him,
and fell asleep. The old servant stood for several minutes gazing with
loving eyes at the singular being before him, whose sex it would have
been difficult for any one at that moment to determine. Wrapped as he
was in a formless garment, which resembled equally a woman's robe and
a man's mantle, it was impossible not to fancy that the slender feet
which hung at the side of the couch were those of a woman, and equally
impossible not to note how the forehead and the outlines of the head
gave evidence of power brought to its highest pitch.
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