"Ah! see," said my father, "the hunt is coming near; the brute is running down this avenue, Princess, do come and look."
"Not I, my dear General," she said. "I am comfortable, and I do not want to disturb myself; it tires me to walk. You may carry me to the window, if you like."
My father picked her up in his arms, as a nurse takes up a baby, and carried her to the window.
He held her there quite ten minutes. The animal would not break cover. At last it passed down the avenue, with both hounds and men after it.
The princess waved her handkerchief to the hunters, and they responded by raising their hats.
Then my father laid her on the couch again, and resumed his seat by her side.
I do not know what happened behind me. I was completely taken up with watching the stag, which was escaping down the avenue from both hounds and hunters. That scene interested me far more than did the princess.
I remember no more of her beyond the waving of her white hand and her white handkerchief.
I have never seen her since, but she left so vivid an impression upon me that day that I can see her now.