The carriage drives on, drives towards the forest. On the edge of the wood stands a red-and-white signpost, the two indexes of which point in opposite directions through the depths of the leafy thicket: one pathway is tolerably smooth, and leads to Komaritz; the other, starting from the same point, is rough, and leads to Zirkow.
She calls to the coachman. He stops the horses.
"Drive on to Komaritz and leave the plums there," she orders him, "and I will meanwhile take the short path and walk home." So saying, she descends from the vehicle.
He sees her walk off quickly and with energy; sees her tall, graceful figure gradually diminish in the perspective of the Zirkow woodland path. For a while he gazes after her, surprised, and then he obeys her directions.
If Krupitschka had been upon the box he would have opposed his young mistress's order as surely as he would have disobeyed it obstinately. He would have said, "The Baroness does not understand that so young a lady ought not to go alone through the forest--the Herr Baron would be very angry with me if I allowed it, and I will not allow it."
But Schmidt is a new coachman. He does as he is bidden, making no objection.
Zdena plunges into the wood, penetrates deeper and deeper into the thicket, aimlessly, heedlessly, except that she longs to find a spot where she can hide her despair from human eyes. She does not wish to see the heavens, nor the sun, nor the buzzing insects and wanton butterflies on the edge of the forest.
At last the shade is deep enough for her. The dark foliage shuts out the light; scarcely a hand's-breadth of blue sky can be seen among the branches overhead. She throws herself on the ground and sobs. After a while she raises her head, sits up, and stares into space.
"How is it possible? How could it have happened?" she thinks. "I cannot understand. From waywardness? from anger because I was a little silly? Oh, God! oh, God! Yes, I take pleasure in luxury, in fine clothes, in the world, in attention. I really thought for the moment that these were what I liked best,--but I was wrong. How little should I care for those things, without him! Oh, God! oh, God! How could he find it in his heart to do it!" she finally exclaims, while her tears flow afresh down her flushed cheeks.
Suddenly she hears a low crackling in the underbrush. She starts and looks up. Before her stands an elderly man of medium height, with a carefully-shaven, sharp-cut face, and a reddish-gray peruke. His tall stove-pipe hat is worn far back on his head, and his odd-looking costume is made up of a long green coat, the tails of which he carries under his left arm, a pair of wide, baggy, nankeen trousers, a long vest, with buttons much too large, and a pair of clumsy peasant shoes. The most remarkable thing about him is the sharp, suspicious expression of his round, projecting eyes.