Whereupon he put spurs to his horse, and, in spite of the interest with which his friend's fate inspired him, relapsed into his own thoughts. He had been with Irene for a few hours that morning. The feeling that he brought away with him from those happy hours, the certainty that henceforth his way was clear before him, took complete possession of him, and made him unsusceptible to all the dreariness of this strange ride. In addition to this he was filled with joy at being able to help his friend at such a moment, as well as at being a witness of the favorable change which he believed was about to take place in Jansen's lot. Absorbed in these thoughts, he caught himself whistling a merry tune, and beating time to it with his riding-whip; but, seeing that Jansen suddenly spurred on his horse and rode past him, he broke off, urged his own animal to greater speed, and, after overtaking his friend again, rode along at a sharp trot by the side of his brooding companion.
Upon reaching the next village--where, notwithstanding the early hour, everybody seemed to have gone to bed--they drew up before the tavern, and made inquiries concerning a traveling-carriage that they thought must have passed by the place. The few peasants who were in the guests' room, playing cards with the landlord, came out to the door, and gave it as their opinion that, at this time of year, no other carriage than the doctor's or the priest's one-horse chaise would show itself in those parts. They stood shaking their heads, and looking after the retiring horsemen, as they again dashed forward.
"We shall overtake them in Grossheselohe, at the railway bridge," said Felix. "They can't cross there with the carriage, and will wait for the express train, so as to go on early to-morrow morning. They must have passed, unless Rosenbusch was dreaming. These people in the tavern are so befogged with beer and schnapps, that it is very probable they didn't hear the wheels."
They reached the village of Grossheselohe as one of the church clocks was striking six. A rather lively company was assembled in the village ale-house. The waiter-girl, who stepped to the door upon hearing the approaching sound of horses' hoofs, knew nothing of any carriage bringing strangers from the city. But a drunken hostler, who came staggering out of one of the stalls, muttered some unintelligible words and pointed to the road leading into the wood, though he could not be induced to give any more distinct information.
"Forward!" cried Felix. "We have no other choice, and I know the road through the wood. Undoubtedly, Stephanopulos is also very well acquainted with the country about here. This region was the classic site of the May festivals that the artists used to give. Take my word for it, we shall find our fugitives in the next village."
He urged on his horse, but the heavy darkness now forced them to moderate their speed. Riding at a walk, they plunged into the blackness of the little wood which fringes the high bank of the Isar, and which, in summertime, is the goal of so many weary city-folk. Now, it was so gloomy that even Felix felt a cold shudder pass through his very bones. Down in the deep ravines the water roared, and the wind sighed mournfully through the bare tree-tops. Jansen's animal shied and reared, but his rider sat in the saddle like the stone Commendatore; he had hardly spoken a word for an hour.
Suddenly Felix reined in his horse. "Do you see there?" said he, in a suppressed voice. "I'll wager we have them. It's high time. My horse has gone lame in its right fore-foot."
Across a cleared patch in the wood they saw the village which the artists had used as a rallying-point in the picnics of which Felix had spoken. A house, with a rather high roof, stood out like a silhouette against the gray sky, showing, in its second story, a row of brightly-lighted windows.
"Unless they happen to be celebrating a wedding here, other guests must be in those rooms," said Felix. "Let's ride nearer, and cut across this field; although there's not much fear that they could escape us now, even if we should besiege their hiding-place from the open road."
The horses, giving a low neigh--for they scented a crib of oats--stamped through the slippery mud, and drew up before the fence that separated the inn court-yard from the street.