"Eat and sleep yourself, Karl," said she, "I need nothing. You must be more fatigued than I am."
"I am no more fatigued than if I had done nothing but say my prayers by the hearthside with my poor wife, to whom may the Lord grant peace! How happy was I when I saw myself outside of Prussia; though to tell the truth, I do not know if I am in Saxony, Bohemia, Poland, or in China, as we used to say at Roswald, Count Hoditz's place."
"How is it possible, Karl, that you could sit on the box of the carriage, and not know a single place you passed through?"
"Because I never travelled this route before, signora; and I cannot read what is written on the bridges and signboards. Besides, we did not stop in any city or village, and always found our relays in the forest, or in the courtyard of some private house. There is also another reason, signora—I promised the Chevalier not to tell you."
"You should have mentioned that reason first, Karl, and I would not object. But tell me, does the Chevalier seem sick?"
"Not all, signora. He goes and comes about the house, which does not seem to do any great business, for I see no other face than that of the silent old gardener."
"Go and offer to help him, Karl. I can dispense with you."
"Why, he has already refused my services, and bade me attend to you."
"Well, mind your own affairs, then, my friend, and dream of liberty."
Consuelo went to bed about dawn, and when she had dressed, she saw by her watch that it was two o'clock. The day seemed clear and brilliant. She attempted to open the blinds, but in both rooms they were shut by a secret spring, like those of the post-chaise in which she had travelled. She sought to go out, but the doors were fastened on the outside. She went to the window, and saw a portion of a moderate orchard. Nothing announced the vicinity of a city or a travelled road. The silence of the house was complete. On the outside nothing was heard but the hum of insects, the cooing of pigeons on the roof, and from time to time the plaintive creaking of the wheelbarrow, where her eye could not reach. She listened mechanically to these agreeable sounds, for her ear had long been deprived of the sounds of rustic life. Consuelo was yet a prisoner, and the anxiety with which she was concealed gave her a great deal of unhappiness. She resigned herself for the time to a captivity the aspect of which was so gentle; and she was not so afraid of the love of the Chevalier as of Mayer.