Two months went on; the Countess Olga wrote no more; they deemed themselves delivered from her threatened presence. She had not replied to his refusal to permit her to come thither, and Sabran felt relieved from an intolerable position. Had she persisted, he had decided to make full confession to his wife rather than permit her to receive ignorantly the insult of such a visit.
It was now the end of September, and the weather remained fine and open. He spent a great deal of his time out of doors, and took his old interest in the forests, the stud, and the hunting. The letter of Olga Brancka had brought close to him again the peril from which he had so hardly escaped in Paris, and the peace and sweetness of his home-life seemed the more precious to him by contrast. The high intelligence, the serene temper of his wife, and her profound affection seemed to him treasures for which he could be never grateful enough to fate and fortune; their days passed in tranquil and sunny happiness; but ever and again a word, a look, the merest trifle, sufficed to awake the sleeping snake of remorse which was, dormant in his breast.
One day he took Bela with him when he rode—a rare honour for the child, who rode superbly. His pony kept fair pace with his father's English hunter, and even the leaping did not scare either it or its rider.
'Bravo, Bela!' said Sabran, when they at last drew rein; 'you ride like a centaur. Is your education advanced enough to know what centaurs were?'
'Oh! they were what I should love to be,' replied Bela rapturously. 'They were joined on to the horse!'
Sabran laughed. 'Well, a good rider is one with his horse, so you may come very near your ideal. Ulrich has taught you an admirable seat. You are worthy of your mother in the saddle.'
Bela coloured with pleasure.
'In the study you are not so, I fear?' Sabran continued. 'You do not like learning, do you?'
'I like some sorts,' said the child with a little timidity; 'I like history, knowing what the people did in the other ages. Now the Herr Professor lets us do our lessons out of doors, I do not mind them at all. As for Gela, he likes nothing but books and pictures,' he added, with a sense of his one grief against his brother.
'Happy Gela! whatever his fate in life he will never be alone,' said his father, as he dismounted to let his hunter take breathing space. The child leapt lightly from his saddle, took his little silver folding cup out of his pocket, and drank at a spring, one of the innumerable springs rushing over the mossy stones and flower-filled grass.