She reined in her steed beside the carriage, and Bernhard replied to the enchanting smile of the fair Amazon by a formal lifting of his hat.
"What a delightful encounter!" cried Frau von Wronsky, and her eyes were more eloquent than any words. "I hope your business matters are concluded, or rather I know they are, and that you have had much that was most annoying to endure."
"You know----" He was now standing in his barouche, with his hand upon the back of the seat, and her brilliant eyes were on a level with his own.
"Yes; I have heard it all in my letters from Berlin, and naturally I have sympathized with you from my heart. Your home must indemnify you, my dear Count, for all that you have suffered abroad." She leaned forward and looked him full in the face as she spoke. "I trust you will soon come to Paniênka, that we may discuss it all together."
"You are very kind, but I have just heard that my boy is very ill, and----"
"Oh, has your wife returned? Happy man! I am still alone; my husband is away for an indefinite time----"
Bernhard looked not at her, but at his horses pawing the ground impatiently, as he rejoined, "I am extremely anxious with regard to my boy; he seems to be dangerously ill."
She struck her glove impatiently with the silver butt of her riding-whip, and her dark brows lowered, but she controlled herself, and said, "If the sick-room should be too confining for you, I pray you to remember the rocks about the lake in the park at Paniênka. My remembrances to your charming wife. I hope soon to hear from you."
She inclined her head and reined in her horse for an instant longer, as though awaiting an answer.
"I certainly will send you word with regard to the child's condition," Bernhard said, gravely.