The dinner was in truth solemn and splendid, the whole table being loaded with enormous dishes.

“What a luxuriance of richness!” said M. de Vermondans.  “Thank God, a love of books does not make us forget material things.”

Ireneus said, “This is in truth a banquet, with which, in France, a candidate for the Chamber might win over many electors.”

“Luckily,” said the old priest, “we have no electors here to lead astray.  When, though, we leave the table, my farmer-boys will make merry over what we have not eaten, and with them many poor people who on Christmas are in the habit of coming to the parsonage.  You do not to-day dine with me, but with my people.  On Christmas, in Sweden, we make presents to each other as in France is done on New-Year’s day.  This game, these fish, have been brought to me by the huntsmen and fishermen of my people.  A peasant gave me a quarter of veal, another gave me cream, a third the butter.  Even one woman has brought me an egg or two, saying that they should be boiled only for myself.  Before long the house will be filled with a crowd, and many strange stories will be told around the firesides.  Whole pitchers of beer will be emptied to the health of the old pastor and his friends.”

“They will dance?” asked Alete.

“No, mademoiselle, you will not have that profane amusement.  But Nils the schoolmaster has a very fine voice.  Olaf the fisherman, and his brother Christian, will be there also, and your cousin will be able to hear some of the popular songs.  He never heard anything like them in Paris.”

“So be it,” said Alete; “one or two rounds with those merry figures would however have been amusing enough.  Hark! it seems to me I hear hurras at Nils’s arrival.  If the two others are come, may I bring him?”

“Do so, my child,” said the pastor.

“Yes, go, Alete,” said Ebba, gaily.

Alete went out, and came in shortly with three young men, who modestly looked down, and twirled their hats between their fingers.

“Good morning, friends,” said the pastor.  “Alete has told you I had a favor to ask.  I have a friend here who does not know our old Swedish songs, and I rely on you to give him a good idea.”

The three young men looked toward Ireneus and then toward each other.  Then, being encouraged by signs from Ebba, and having drunken a glass of wine which was offered them, they sang a song which was designated.

They sang, one after the other, the romance of Agnete, who was surprised on the shore and borne beneath the water by the amorous Neck.  That of fair Carine, the victim of her virtue, the soul of whom flew to heaven in the shape of a white dove, where it was again transformed into a joyous harp, the sweet sounds of which won the crown of queen.  Much to his regret, Ireneus could not understand the sense of these songs, which are, so to say, idyls and charming dramas.  He however listened with undefinable emotion to those simple and artless melodies, which, in their expression of grief and joy, were so pure that they seemed to spring from the very heart of the people.  He begged Ebba to say to the singers how delighted he was, and they then went to the kitchen to tell how pleased the Parisian had been.