Pacheco manifested a respectful enthusiasm toward the Countess, but at times he wondered if Quentin, with his wild ideas and outbursts, might not interest the Countess more....
... And as they chatted, the afternoon advanced; the sun poured down, its reflected rays were blinding as they fell on stones and bushes; and the air, quivering in the heat, made the outlines of the mountain and the distant landscape tremble.
“Would you like to take a ride, my lady?” said Pacheco.
“Yes, indeed.”
“Shall I saddle your horse?”
“Fine!”
The Countess mounted, followed by Pacheco and Quentin, and the three made their way toward the top of the mountain by a broad path that ran between stout evergreens.
It was late Autumn; the days were sweltering, but as soon as the sun set, the air became very refreshing.
The mountain was splendid that afternoon. The dry, clean air was so transparent that it made even the most distant objects seem near; the trees were turning yellow and shedding their dried leaves; the harvested meadows had not yet begun to turn green. In the highways and byways, brambles displayed their black fruit, and the dog-rose bushes their carmine berries among their thorny branches.
“What are you thinking of doing, Quentin? What have you up your sleeve?” asked the Countess suddenly.