"It is indifferent to me whether people think it singular or not. I am strong; I can go through a good deal; I shall not be tired."
"But before the servants," remonstrated Anton. "You are letting yourself down before the servants and the country people."
"That is my own concern," replied Lenore, doggedly; "do not oppose me; I am determined, and that is enough."
Anton shrugged his shoulders, and was obliged to acquiesce. Lenore rode next to Karl, and went through all the exercises as well as a lady's saddle allowed; but Anton, who was one of the infantry, looked over from his post at the bright face with dissatisfaction. She had never pleased him so little. Yet, as she sprang forward with the rest, wheeled her horse round, waved her sword, her bright hair floating in the wind, her eyes beaming with courage, she was enchantingly beautiful. But what would have charmed him in mere play seemed unfeminine now that this drilling had become a matter of life and death; and as soon as it was over, and Lenore came up to him with glowing cheeks, waiting that he should address her, he was silent, and she had to laugh and say to him, "You look so morose, sir; do you know that the expression is very unbecoming?"
"I am not pleased at your being so willful," replied Anton. Lenore turned away without a word, gave her horse to a servant, and walked back in dudgeon to the castle.
Since that time she took no share in the drilling, indeed, but she was always present when the men assembled, and looked on longingly from a little distance; and when Anton was away, she would ride off in secret with Karl to the other villages, or walk alone through woods and fields, armed with a pocket pistol, and delighted if she could stop and cross-question any wayfarer.
Anton remonstrated with her on that subject too.
"The district is disturbed," he said. "How easily some rascal or other might do you an injury! If not a stranger, it might be some one from our own village."
"I am not afraid," Lenore would reply, "and the men of our village will do me no harm." And, in fact, she knew how to manage them better than Anton or any one else. She alone was always reverentially saluted, even by the rudest among them; and whenever her tall figure was seen in the village street, the men bowed down to the ground, and the women ran to the windows and looked admiringly after her. And she had the pleasure, too, of hearing them tell her so in Anton's hearing. One Sunday evening, Karl, the forester, and the shepherd sat watching in the farm-yard while the peasants were assembled drinking in the tavern, Sunday being the most dangerous day for those in the castle. Karl had furnished a room for military purposes in the late bailiff's house. Thither Lenore herself now carried a bottle of rum and some lemons, that the sentinels might brew themselves some punch. The shepherd and the forester grinned from ear to ear at the attention. Karl placed a chair for the young lady, the forester began to tell a tale of terror from the neighboring district, and in a few minutes Lenore was sitting with them, exchanging views on the course of events. Just as the punch was ready, and she poured it into two glasses and a mug, in came Anton. She did not exactly want him just then, but, however, he found no fault, and merely turned and beckoned to a stranger to come in. A slender youth in a blue coat, with bright woolen epaulettes, a soldier's cap in his hand, and wide linen trowsers pushed into his boots, proudly entered the room. As soon as he saw the lady, he was at her knees, and then he stood before her with downcast eyes, cap in hand. Karl went up to him: "Now then, Blasius, what news from the tavern?"
"Oh, nothing," replied the youth, in the melodious cadence with which the Pole speaks broken German. "Peasant sits, and drinks, and is merry."