“I have been thinking out the answer to a very ingenious problem set me this morning,” I said, trying to speak lightly.
“It has been a trying problem for your horse, I should think,” she said, glancing at his flanks, which were covered with foam, for I had ridden hard.
“Not more so than for his rider, I assure you.”
“I hope it has not distressed you as much.”
“The Count carries the sign of that in his face,” said the little Broumoff, earnestly. “I hope it is no more than a military problem.”
“All problems in Bulgaria have their military side,” I answered gravely.
The Princess’s eyes showed concern. She understood.
“We must not let your horse stand while he is so heated with his problem, Count. If you would like to see me, I shall be at home in an hour from now.”
“With your permission, I will call,” I said, and saluted her as she drove on. “I will have the searchlight of her woman’s wit on the matter,” was my thought as I rode home; and, despite the grave and critical reason for the interview, I was yet half disposed to be glad of it, so much store did I set on the opportunity of being in her presence. I could scarcely wait with patience for the minutes to run out until I could start for her house.
Mademoiselle Broumoff was still with her when I arrived.