The artist saw none of these things, however. His eyes were fixed on the princess, and could not quit her. In her riding-habit, a masterpiece of some great Parisian costumer, which showed the symmetry of her form and the rich swell of her bust, Lise Olsdorf was wonderfully beautiful. Under the coquettish hat, made in the Louis XV. style, her clearly cut face had a brave and almost saucy look. Her little gloved hand held firmly and gracefully the reins of the splendid thorough-bred she was riding. Paul, in admiration, stopped short at a few paces' distance, forgetting even to salute her.
Not until the princess spoke did he recover himself.
"Are you not going to join us?" she asked in an amused tone. "What are you thinking?"
"Pardon me, madame, pardon me," said the painter, doffing his hat. "I was admiring."
He had not dared to say, "I was admiring you," but Lise Olsdorf understood.
"That is not a reply," she said, smiling. "See, yonder are two horses ready saddled. But perhaps you are not a rider, and I warn you that our animals are pretty spirited."
"I should not be one of my race or my country, madame, if I were not a horseman."
At a sign from him the groom holding the two horses brought them up and gave him one. Not using the stirrup, he leaped into the saddle.
"Bravo!" exclaimed the prince, coming up at that moment to ask his wife if he should give the order for a start. "Are you going with us?"
"Only as a companion on the road, prince," Paul replied, taking a whip—the najayka, as it is called—that one of the footmen handed to him.