At last the night wore to a close; I heard a cock crow in the little yard without, and knew that morning was at hand. I flung a new fagot on the fire, and as it crackled and blazed up, illuminating the dreary room, the princess awoke. There was a moment of surprise, of suspended recollection, and then she sprang up.
“Oh, monsieur,” she cried softly, “have I slept long? Why did you permit it?”
I smiled, rising too, and laying some money gently in the lap of the sleeping crone.
“Come,” I whispered, “let us go—if they know not whither, it will be best, if they are questioned.”
“I would thank them though,” she said regretfully, and then unclasping her bracelet, she laid it beside my coins, and followed me on tip-toe to the door.
XXIX: A DUEL WITH SWORDS
THERE is nothing in the world more beautiful than the dawn—the birth of a new day—the resurrection of the light. Darkness rolling away like a vapour, lying low on the earth, dropping away into its valleys; above, the firmament is radiant, an arch of glory, of tender colour, of soft white clouds, transcendently lovely, and the very air is sweeter, fresher, full of musical sounds—life stirring gently out of silence and sleep.
As the Princess Daria and I rode from the hut by the wayside, such a dawn was breaking; the sky was faintly luminous, the earth dark and level, and we could see, across the wide sweep of the plain, the river of light begin to flow, wider and wider, between earth and sky, rippling and radiating, as it spread, until the shadows fled away from the face of the steppe and we saw the ground green and fragrant and in the distance a herd of cattle grazing, for it was spring and there was pasturage. It was still and peaceful and lonely, as a vast plain is ever lonely.
The horses had rested too, and were fresh, travelling briskly along the highroad; not a habitation was in sight before us, no sign of man, but here and there, a shrine; for the Russian loves to pray, and his saint is ever close at hand.
The princess, repentant for the loss of time, was in a softer mood, and rode beside me quietly. She had not muffled her face, and the air brought a freshness to her aspect. I noticed, too, again that she rode like a Frenchwoman, and not as the Russians commonly did, astride like men.