The goldsmith himself presently emerged from an inner room. He had evidently heard them come in, and probably thought he would do a brisk trade. Placing himself beside the clerk, he put the flat of his hands on the counter and inquired invitingly what was desired.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf repeated in substance what he had said to the clerk—that he would very much like to see the beautiful wares in the place though he could not afford to purchase any.
The goldsmith cocked his head and looked at the Lieutenant out of the corner of his eye.
"The gentleman, I take it, is a Värmlander?" he said.
"Hell, yes, of course I'm a Värmlander!" the Lieutenant wagged back. "What the deuce else should I be?"
Then everybody roared. The clerks all crowded round the Lieutenant, and from the inner rooms came a finely dressed woman—the wife of the goldsmith—who wanted to know what the fun was about.
Fru Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa were so mortified they could have wished themselves back in the jolting carriage on the Karlstad road, or the rocking boat on stormy Vänern—anywhere but in that fine shop!
"Come now, Gustaf," they urged, "for pity's sake let us get out of here!"
"No, no, please don't go!" begged the goldsmith in his most persuasive tone. "We should be so happy to show you what we carry here."
He gave orders to the clerks, who ran up ladders and
