"The Countess de St. Auber, widow of the celebrated Count de St. Auber, of whom Monsieur must have read in the newspapers."
But Monsieur had not read of him, and was therefore obliged to ask further information; whence it appeared that the Count had accidentally shot himself on the morning of his marriage, when drawing the charge of his pistols, preparatory to putting them in his carriage. The waiter grew quite pathetic in his description of the young bride's agonies, and had to wipe his eyes once or twice during his narrative.
"But she has rallied by this, hasn't she?" asked I.
"If Monsieur can call it so," said he, shrugging his shoulders. "She never goes into the world,—knows no one,—receives no one,—lives entirely to herself; and, except her daily ride in the wood, appears to take no pleasure whatever in life."
"And so she rides out every day?"
"Every day, and at the same hour too. The carriage takes her about a league into the forest, far beyond where the usual promenade extends, and there her horses meet her, and she rides till dusk. Often it is even night ere she returns."
There was something that interested me deeply in all this. You know that a pretty woman on horseback is one of my greatest weaknesses; and so I went on weaving thoughts and fancies about the charming young widow till the champagne was finished, after which I went off to bed, intending to dream of her, but, to my intense disgust, to sleep like a sea-calf till morning.
My first care on waking, however, was to despatch a very humble apology by the waiter for my noisy conduct on the previous evening, and a very sincere hope that the Countess had not suffered on account of it.
He brought me back for answer "that the Countess thanked me for my polite inquiry, and was completely restored."
"Able to ride out as usual?"