She had walked out to the flight of steps which led down into the courtyard, where the head groom was holding the bridle of a beautiful English horse which wore a lady's saddle. When it saw its mistress approaching, it turned its head toward her with a joyful neigh and impatiently pawed the ground. The countess paused a moment, patted the animal's neck and let it take a piece of sugar out of her hand. Then she prepared to mount, but when her foot was already in the stirrup, she drew back again.
"I see I can't ride to-day," she said carelessly. "My foot is still lame from the mis-step I made."
"If that's the case," replied the count, "don't tax it. The stag will lead us a long distance to-day; it's the old one we chased last year, but which finally escaped. I've ordered the hunting carriage for the Herr Doctor. Perhaps it will be pleasant for you--"
"Certainly," she carelessly interrupted, without looking at Edwin. "We can drive to the ranger's house together. I'll take Jean with me."
The lad, evidently proud of this preference, stepped forward from the crowd of footmen, hurried toward the carriage, which stood a little apart, behind the saddle horses and hounds, sprang on the box, and taking the reins drove skillfully through the groups of huntsmen and idle grooms to the steps.
"You shall witness my skill as a charioteer," said the countess in a jesting tone to Edwin, who had hastily approached. "Don't be afraid; I know how responsible science would hold me if I should upset one of her votaries." Then she entered the carriage and took the reins and whip; Edwin followed her, and urging on the beautiful animals she guided the light carriage through the gate of the courtyard into the wide forest avenue.
Her attention seemed to be entirely occupied with the horses; for the first ten minutes at least she did not turn her eyes away from them or utter a word. "How beautiful this forest is," said Edwin at last. She smiled and then nodded gravely, but was still silent. She evidently had not heard what he said. So he had plenty of leisure to watch her, and was compelled to acknowledge that her beauty had really gained some mysterious charm. The face was longer, the nose seemed to have lengthened and the eyes to have grown larger and darker, but her smile was no longer the same. It was not that strangely wearied sad smile, that appears when we are too proud to show we have cause to weep, but something far more mournful; a strange, fierce, implacable expression hovered around the lips, the expression that a face might wear after a heavy life storm in which every hope has perished, or when madness is approaching. Edwin was overwhelmed with an emotion of such deep sorrow, that after his fruitless attempt to break the ice, he remained perfectly silent. The air was still and oppressive, a few solitary drops fell, but there was no steady rain; not a bird moved in the forest, no human being met them; only from the distance they occasionally heard sounds from the hunting party, the barking of a dog and the thud of horses' hoofs, which at last died away in the forest.
The road led through the village at the foot of the mountain. Peasant women with their children stood in the doorways as they passed, and eagerly greeted the young countess. A very young woman with a baby stepped directly before them. Toinette stopped a moment, lifted the rosy-cheeked little creature into the carriage, kissed it and asked the mother various questions concerning it. When she gave it back to her again, a crowd of village children had collected, who all held out their little hands and cried good morning. The countess gave the oldest a handful of shining silver. "You must divide it, Hans," said she. "Give something to each. But you must be good and go to school regularly." The mothers came forward and thanked her in the name of the little people. The next moment the horses moved forward again, and they left the village behind them.
"They love you very dearly here," said Edwin.
"I can't help it," she replied. "It's easy to seem like a divinity to these poor people, if we merely treat them kindly. But if the gods have no other happiness than that of being idolized, they're really not to be envied."