The Icelandic Canadian - 01.06.1967, Side 115

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
113
Having now stood up, the French-
man said stiffly: “I say to hell with
all the shells! now that I have met
Sara. My dukedom is here, and she is
the duchess.—Isn’t that so, my dear?”
Sigurd pretended not to hear the
count and continued: “Are you not
embarrassed that everyone in the
whole countryside is laughing at you
for having allowed this pot-bellied red-
head to seduce you?”
Sara turned a little pale, but it was
obvious that she neither could nor
would change her mind. Her eyes
sparkled like diamonds when she look-
ed at the count, and Sigurd realized
that she would consider himself an
enemy. The count resumed his seat,
and, with both hands in his pockets,
crossed his legs. Looking up at Sigurd,
he whistled between his teeth. It was
obvious that he was not frightened
and that he didn’t care a fig what
names he was called.
Sigurd realized that any further ac-
tion would be pointless and would
only result in further alienating the af-
fection of this young woman.
Sigurd was convinced that this so-
called count was nothing more than
an unprincipled braggart Who had
decided to visit this faraway land in
the belief that here it would be pos-
sible to play the role of a great man
with little effort—easier than anywhere
else. He had heard of travellers of such
caliber and even had known one such
roustabout who had come into the
district to inspect shells, just as this
one had. He had pretended to be a
representative of a scientific society in
Germany and had assumed the title
“Doctor”. But when the chips were
down, he didn’t know a word of Latin
and couldn’t even pay for a night’s
lodging at the farm. Sigurd was con-
vinced that this count was of the same
ilk. But what good would it do though
he were to show Sara how suspicious
he was of this foreigner who, claiming
to be a nobleman and the owner of
a dukedom, had arrived, only two or
three weeks before, with but a single
suitcase, and with the avowed inten-
tion of collecting shells. What proof
did the Frenchman have for his cork-
andibull story? Sigurd was sure that
it was not the “dukedom” but rather
this balding redhead that infatuated
her.
Turning on his heel he left without
a word and rode home. He despised
Sara and himself too. He did feel more
at ease in his mind now, when he
thought of them together. This did not
last for long however. Soon jealousy
attacked him again, with greater force
than before, to the point where he
could neither sleep nor eat.
So it was. Sigurd looked like a sick
man. He avoided talking to anyone,
replying abruptly, when spoken to. His
mother became more distressed with
every passing day, for she knew the
cause of his suffering. His father
slammed doors if he became aware of
Sigurd in the house and muttered
under his breath. It was as though
some depression lay over the whole
house. People spoke in whispers and
became noticeably silent when the
vicar’s son was near.
Then, one day someone rode into
the yard. Sigurd’s friends, the English-
man with his manservant had arrived,
precisely at the time indicated in the
infallible schedule. A feeling of elation
came over Sigurd, and he went out to
greet the guests and to bid them wel-
come.
The hunter’s eyes looked harder at
Sigurd than ever before, but neither
mentioned the redheaded count,
though each knew that the other was
thinking of him. After the guests had
refreshed themselves and rested, sud-