Throughout the evening, try as he might, Paul could not get near Lise; his eyes did not meet hers once. She retired early, and had slipped away before he had guessed that she was going.
The next day he hardly saw her, for she did not come down to dinner, the prince making her excuses to their friends on the plea of slight indisposition. After this day, however, Lise, as if she had schooled herself to calmness, again appeared gracious and smiling, with that care for the comfort of her guests that she always showed in fulfilling her duties as mistress of the household.
Still, calm and indifferent as she made herself appear before the artist, she doubtless distrusted her strength too much to risk a tête-à-tête, for Paul never found himself quite alone with her. When he greeted her at meeting, she had always to respond at that moment to some other greeting as well. She returned his bow hurriedly, with downcast eyes and an absent look; and if she met him by chance in passing through the fencing-room, in one of the vestibules, or at any other part of the house for the moment deserted, she quickened her step, though not too markedly, as he accompanied her, and, beginning to speak on different topics, she would continue to do so without giving him the chance to speak, until they had encountered some one else.
Paul Meyrin understood the tactics adopted by the mistress of Pampeln. He was vain enough to infer that she feared him, and in consequence grew more charmed with her, and the more decided to declare his love.
Things had gone on thus for a week, and the Roumanian had not yet found the chance he watched for, the more eagerly in proportion as he saw that the princess often seemed nervous, preoccupied, and fanciful, when one evening the prince announced to his guests an interesting hunting-party for the following day.
A few minutes later Lise retired, bending on Paul a look which he caught but hesitated to give a meaning. Was it on her part a sort of haughty defiance? Or was it, on the contrary, a kind of encouragement? Did she mean, "You dare go no further, and you are prudent," or "Why dare not you? I am waiting!"
Whichever it was, the painter slept little that night, and rose at daylight. He supposed he must be one of the first of the guests stirring in the house, but when he reached the court-yard he found the princess there before him, on horseback, though it was only just seven o'clock.
Pierre Olsdorf and his usual companions were to start for the banks of the Wandau, there to hunt the stag; and Lise had determined to accompany her husband's friends as far as the Elva farm, three leagues distant from the château, and cultivated by one Soublaieff, an old retainer of the prince, whom he had brought from his estates in the Crimea and for whom he had a great affection.
At this early hour, under the oblique rays of the sun, the great court-yard of Pampeln was a charming sight for a painter. There was a noise, a movement, and a kaleidoscope of colors not easy to describe. Excited by the barking of the hounds, which the footmen held coupled in leashes, by the blasts on the horns of the huntsmen giving the signal for the start, and by the different orders that were being shouted one over the other, the horses, with erect ears and waving manes, pawed the ground impatiently under their riders, who all wore the correct hunting costume, which the prince had been one of the first to make fashionable in Russia—wide breeches, high boots, and a double-breasted tunic, caught in at the waist with a leathern belt, in which a Circassian dagger was stuck.
In front of the flight of steps leading up to the house were the carriages for General Podoi's wife and her friends. The horses were superb creatures which the drivers could scarcely control.