“There is no way. I should have thought you could see that. Any one who enters this wood except with the purpose of driving round it, does a very stupid thing.”
“And you?”
“I?” she laughed again. “I jumped my horse over the dry ditch yonder. Imitate me if you feel inclined, though I fear with your horse and carriage it will not be quite so easy. But where are you going to?”
“To the Castle de Werve.”
“To the Werve!” she repeated, descending the hill and approaching me as nearly as she could on the opposite side of the ditch. “What is your business at the Castle, sir?” she inquired, in quite another tone, no longer speaking like a “somebody” to a “nobody.”
“To pay a visit to General von Zwenken, and his granddaughter, Freule Mordaunt.”
“The General no longer receives visitors, and what you have to say to his granddaughter you can address to me. I am Freule Mordaunt.”
“I can scarcely believe it; but, if so, may I request Freule Mordaunt to appoint a more suitable place than this. What I have got to say cannot be shouted across a ditch in the presence of a third person.”
“Then you must drive back to the toll-bar. There they will direct you to the village, from which you can easily reach the Castle, if your visit is so very urgent.”
“In order to give you time to get home and deny yourself to all visitors, my little Major,” I thought to myself. “But now’s my opportunity, and I will not let it slip me.”