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“Oh, Marienne, dear Marienne, I have spoken
to uncle already. I want you to be my wife; say you
will, Marienne!”
She got the truth out of him. The oid Baron,
his father, had allowed himself to be cheated into
buying some more empty mines. The old Baron
had been buying mines all his life, and there was
never anything to be got out of them. His mother
was worried, and he was in debt, and he proposed
to her now, so that he might save the house of his
forefathers and his hussar jacket.
His house was the freehold property of Hedeby;
it lay on the other side of the lake, almost opposite
Björne. Marienne knew him very well; they were
of the same age, and had been playmates. “You
might just as well marry me, Marienne; my life is
so wretched. I must ride on borrowed horses and
cannot pay my tailor. It cannot go on much longer.
I shall be forced to send in my papers, and then I
shall shoot myself.”
“But, Adrian, what kind of a marriage would it
be? We are not in the very least in love with each
other.”
“Oh, as regards love, I do not care a scrap about
that nonsense,” he explained. “I like to ride a good
horse and to hunt, but I am no cavalier, I am only
a worker. If I could only get some money together,
and could take the old estate in hand, and give my
mother some peaceful days, I should be satisfied.
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