'No; I know my road,' said Béthune, who understood the old man's meaning. 'And I never speak any language, Rosselin, but that which best conveys my real thoughts. You, who are so perfect an artist in speech, must be aware that I am a very clumsy one. Is there any smith here who could look to my poor beast?'
'You can put him up at the house where I live,' said Damaris. 'It is a very little way off; we can show you.'
'That will be sweetest charity,' said Béthune.
Rosselin did not see his way to prevent what annoyed him. The Duke, with the bridle over his arm, walked beside her over the pasture; the notes of the Brisée had ceased; the hunt had passed onward westward, where Dampierre was.
Béthune spoke to her with deference and interest, but she answered him briefly and absently. Rosselin kept up the conversation. Suddenly she said in a low tone:
'You have seen her—lately?'
Béthune was surprised.
'You mean the Countess Othmar, your hostess of St. Pharamond? Yes; I saw her a week ago. We stayed together at the same country house in Austria, and I shall soon see her again at Amyôt. That is her castle, as I dare say you know, on the Loire.'
Damaris said nothing. She paced onward, a little in advance of him and of Rosselin; her head was drooped, her face was thoughtful.
'She was not as kind to you in appearance that day as, I assure you, that she was in feeling,' said Béthune, not knowing well what to say. 'She is capricious and negligent, but she has a mind that is very generous and true in its instincts, and those instincts were all your friends and admirers.'