“But, dear Monsieur de Jennico,” so ran the letter then, “since you love me, and since you honour me by telling me so; since you offer me so generously all you have to give, I will be honest with you and tell you that my present life has no charm for me. I know only too well what the future holds for me in my own home, and I am willing to trust myself to you and to your promises rather than face the lot already drawn for me.
“Therefore, Monsieur de Jennico, if it be true that, as you say, all your happiness depends upon my answer, I trust it may be for the benefit of both that I should say ’Yes’ to you to-day. But what is to be must be secretly done, and soon Are you willing, to obtain your desire, to risk a little, when I am willing to risk so much in granting it? If so, meet my lady-in-waiting to-day at six, alone, where we first met, and she will tell you all that I have decided.”
It was signed simply—“Marie Ottilie.”
There was no hint of answering love to my passionate declaration, but I did not miss it. I had won my Princess, and the few clear words in which she laid bare before me the whole extent of my presumption only added to the exquisite zest of my conquest.
It was a very autumn day—autumn comes quickly in these lands. It had been raining, and I rode down from the higher level into a sea of white writhing mists. It was still and warm—one of those heavy days that as a rule seem like to clog the blood and fill one with reasonless foreboding. I remember all that now; but I know that there was no place for foreboding in my exulting heart as I sallied out full early to the trysting-place.
The mare I rode, because of the close atmosphere and her own headstrong temper, was in a great lather when I arrived at the little pine-wood, and I dismounted and began to lead her gently to and fro (for I loved the pretty creature, who was as fond and skittish as a woman) that she might cool by degrees and take no injury. I was petting and fondling her sleek coat, when of a sudden, without my having had the least warning of her coming, I turned to find Mademoiselle Ottilie before me.
She looked at me straight with one of those odd searching looks which I had now and again seen her fix upon me; and without either “Good-even” or “How-do-you-do,” she said abruptly:
“I saw you coming all the way along the white road from the moment it turns the corner, and I saw how your mare fought you, and how difficult it was to bring her past the great beam of the well yonder. You made her obey, but you have not left a scratch upon her sides—yet you wear spurs.”
She looked at me with the most earnest inquiry, and, ruffled by the futility of the question when so much was at stake, I said to her somewhat sharply:
“What has this to do, Mademoiselle, with our meeting here to-day?”