"The victoria with the pair of blacks must be ready at two," the head-groom said to old Martin. "You must keep a sharp look-out--I don't see how you will manage--those fiery creatures in that light carriage."
The countess heard it at the window, but she paid no heed. If only she could fly there with the light carriage, the fiery horses, as her heart desired. Forward--was her only thought.
"Must I go, too?" asked the maid, pale with fright.
"No, I shall need no one." The countess now shut the windows and went to her writing-desk, for there was much to be done within the few short hours. Her father's funeral--sending the announcements--all these things must now be entrusted to others and a representative must be found among the relatives to fill her own place. She assigned as a pretext the necessity of taking a short journey for a day or two, adding that she did not yet know whether she could return in time for the funeral of the prince. Her pen fairly flew over the paper, and she finally wrote a brief note to the duke, in which she told him nothing except her father's death. The four hours slipped rapidly away, and as the clock struck two the victoria drove to the door.
The countess was already standing there. The lamps at the entrance shone brightly, but even brighter was old Martin's face, as he curbed the spirited animals with a firm hand.
"To Ammergau, Martin!" said the countess significantly, as she entered the equipage.
"Hi! But I'll drive now!" cried the old man, joyously, not suspecting the sorrowful state of affairs, and off dashed the steeds as though spurred by their mistress' fears--while guilt and remorse accompanied her with the heavy flight of destiny.
[CHAPTER XXXVIII.]
ON THE WAY TO THE CROSS
It was Sunday. Again the throngs surged around the Passion Theatre, more devout, more numerous than ever.