CHAPTER XIII.

THE HUNT.

Early next morning the hunting-horns awoke the guests. Those who had gone to sleep thinking of hunting, and had dreamt of hunting, at once sprang to their feet at that joyous sound. The others, who would gladly have compounded with themselves for an extra half-hour and allowed their heavy eyelids just one more little snooze, were violently thwarted in their inclinations by the ever-increasing racket which suddenly dominated Kárpáthy Castle; for the bustling to and fro of heavy boots, the sound of familiar voices in the halls and parlours, the baying of dogs in the courtyard, the cracking of whips, and the neighing of horses would have sufficed to disturb the sweet slumbers of the Seven Sleepers themselves. But what is the use of expecting moderation or discretion from sportsmen? The most exquisite of drawing-room dandies, when he prepares him for the chase, puts on quite another character with his hunting boots and cap, and considers himself justified in making as much row as possible, and bawls in a voice that is quite different to his own.

Day had scarcely dawned when the fully dressed guests came into the hall to show themselves and have a look at the weather. The more original young bucks were dressed in coats with large flapping sleeves, vests with broad flat buttons, and[Pg 275] velvet caps with crane's feathers; the elegants, on the other hand, affected tightly fitting dolmans and spiral hats; only the buffoon, Count Gregory, was got up, à l'Anglaise, in a red cut-away coat, and piteously begged every one to explain to the dogs that he was not the fox.

Most of the ladies were also in hunting attire, the close-clinging bodices exhibiting to admiration their amazonian figures; while the long trains had to be held up, lest the spurred and booted heroes around them should trample ruthlessly thereon. And who so beautiful amongst all these beauties as Flora and Fanny!

And now the bell rang inviting the guests to breakfast. Sausage and herb pottage, dishes à la fourchette, and corresponding drams of strong spirit awaited them in the dining-room. There was no affectation or finnicking now: all alike were sportsmen. The sweetest, prettiest ladies did not refuse, at the request of their admirers, to moisten their rosy lips with a few drops of thirty-years old szilvorium: everything was permissible now, and, besides, they had need of strong hearts to-day. Even the elderly women meant to accompany the huntsmen in carriages.

It was a glorious summer morning when the imposing cavalcade issued from the courtyard of Kárpáthy Castle. First of all came the ladies, so many slim, supple amazons, on prancing steeds, in the midst of a circle of noisy youths, who made their own horses dance and curvet by the side of their chosen dames; behind them came the wags of the party, on splendidly caparisoned rustic nags; and, last of all, the elderly ladies and gentlemen in their carriages. Squire John himself was in the saddle, and shewed all the world that he could hold his own with the smartest cavalier present, and everytime he looked at his wife he seemed to be twenty years younger, and his face beamed at the thought[Pg 276] that she was such a pretty woman and he was her husband.

Three prizes had been fixed for the best foxhound: the first was a golden goblet with an inscription on it, the second was a silver hunting-horn, and the third a beautiful bear-skin; and no doubt the victorious foxhound would, personally, have been most grateful for the last. Most of the competing dogs, tied together in couples, were led along by the men-servants; but each of the favourite foxhounds was brought on to the ground in a cart, lest any of the horses should kick it. Naturally none of the company carried fire-arms; it is not usual to have them at a fox-hunt.

As the whole merry company was approaching the end of the long avenue of Italian poplars, they perceived a solitary horseman trotting towards them from the opposite end of the avenue.

Even at a distance every one recognized him at once from his mode of riding, and like quick fire the rumour spread amongst the company; ah, at last he has arrived!

Who was it, then, who had arrived at last? Why, who else but the most gallant of cavaliers, the most daring of courtiers, who had only to come, see, and conquer - Mike Kis, the Whitsun King!

In a moment he had reached the cavalcade, and was apologizing to the ladies for having remained away so long, conveying the impression, from slight allusions he let drop, that some serious business, a duel perhaps, had detained him; then he proceeded to make his excuses to the gentlemen, allowing it to be supposed that some tender affair, a private assignation for instance, was the cause of his delay. Then, shaking hands right and left, and even finding time to throw a word or two to each of the foxhounds by name, he politely begged those who thronged him to make way, as he wished to pay his respects immediately to Madame Kárpáthy,[Pg 277] whom, without the slightest embarrassment, he began to call a goddess, an angel on horseback, and other pretty names.

Unfortunately Fanny misunderstood him, and, regarding everything he said as so many capital jokes, rewarded them with far more laughter than their merits deserved.

"Squire John, Squire John!" cried Dame Marion, in a shrill, pointed sort of tone, to Kárpáthy, who was trotting beside her carriage, "if I were you I would not have a bosom friend who has the reputation of being irresistible."

"I am not jealous, your ladyship; that is the one little wheel which is wanting in my mechanism. I suppose it was left out of me when I was made - ha, ha, ha!"

"Then, if I were you, I would not come to a fox-hunt, lest my dogs should regard me as an Actæon."

"To give your ladyship cause to conduct yourself towards me like Diana, eh?"

Dame Marion pouted, and turned her head aside; the man was such a blockhead that he absolutely could not understand any attempt to aggravate him.

And now the company trotted merrily on again.

The course had been chosen outside a village, and in front of it a pleasure-house had been erected. Here the prizes were to be distributed. Here those of the gentlemen and ladies who were not on horseback alighted, and ascended to a terrace, in shape like a lofty tower, which rose from the midst of the pleasure-house, and from whence the whole plain was visible. Only here and there was a dot of forest to be seen; everywhere else stretched a waste expanse covered with broom, coarse grass, and sedges, - a true realm of foxes. Thus from the tower of the pleasure-house the best possible view of the whole competition was[Pg 278] obtainable, and there were field-glasses provided for those who wanted them.

A whole army of foxhounds had followed the hunters. It was a fine sight to see how, at a single familiar whistle, the various packs of hounds were separated from each other; how the dogs crowded round their respective masters, for the favourites were now let down from the carts and the rest were unleashed; and how, barking and yelping, they leaped in the air, to reach and lick their masters' uplifted hands.

It is curious how human passions prove contagious to the very beasts.

Squire John selected from among the rest two pure snow-white hounds, and, whistling to them between his two fingers, led them to his wife.

"They are the finest and the boldest foxhounds in the whole pack."

"I know them: one is Cziczke, and the other Rajkó."

The two dogs, hearing their names mentioned, joyously leaped and bounded in their efforts to lick their mistress's hand as she sat on horseback.

It was very pleasant to Squire John to find that his wife knew his dogs by name, he was equally pleased to see that the dogs knew their mistress - ah! every one did her homage, both man and beast.

"But where, then, is Matyi?" inquired Fanny, looking about her.

"I am taking him with me."

"What, sir, are you going to take part in the race? Pray do not!"

"Why not? Don't you think me a good enough horseman?"

"I readily believe that you are; but pray, for my sake, do not proceed to prove it!"

"For your sake I will immediately dismount."

Flora whispered to Count Gregory, who was[Pg 279] riding by her side, "I should like to know how many of the husbands present would give up hunting for the sake of their wives?"

And, indeed, Squire John's affection must have been something altogether out of the way to make him renounce his favourite pastime in the joyful anticipation of which he had been living for months beforehand, simply to please his wife. Fanny, deeply touched, held out her hands towards him.

"You are not angry with me, I hope," said she; "but I feel so frightened on your account."

John Kárpáthy pressed the extended hand to his lips, and, holding it in his palm some little time, asked -

"And ought I not to be afraid on your account also?"

Fanny involuntarily glanced at her friend, as if to ask whether she also ought not to remain here.

Kárpáthy guessed the meaning of the look.

"No, no; I don't want you to remain here. Go and enjoy yourself! But take care of yourself. And you young fellows there, watch over my wife as if she were the light of your eyes."

"Oh, we'll look after her!" replied Mike Kis, twirling his moustache.

"And I, also, will look after her," cried Lady Szentirmay, with a strong emphasis on the word I; for she had observed that Kárpáthy's good-natured appeal had somewhat confused his wife.

And now the horns began to sound and the whips to crack, and both dogs and horses grew unruly and impatient. The company divided into three parts, forming a centre and rings like an army, and advanced into the bushy plain, sending the dogs on in front. The ladies waved their handkerchiefs, the gentlemen their caps, to the friends they had left behind on the tower who responded in like manner, whereupon the galloping groups[Pg 280] scattered in every direction, disappearing here and there among the thick brushwood. Only the heads of most of the riders were now visible above the bushes, but the fluttering veils of the two ladies could be plainly seen by every one, and every eye was fixed upon them with delight. And now they came to a ditch. Lady Szentirmay boldly raced towards it, and was over it in a trice; a moment later, Madame Kárpáthy also leaped the ditch, her slender figure swayed and danced during the leap; after her plunged her escort, Count Gregory, the Whitsun King, and some other horsemen. The people on the balcony applauded.

Only Kárpáthy felt uneasy, and did not know where to bestow himself. He descended among the grooms, and finding old Paul there, said to him, anxiously -

"I can't help feeling anxious lest some accident should happen to my wife. Isn't that horse rather shy?"

"The steadiest goer in the world; but perhaps you would like me to go after her?"

"Well, I should. You have just hit it. Mount my horse. Take care they do not go astray near the swamp; call their attention to the fact that they might easily come to grief there."

Palko immediately mounted Squire John's horse, and Kárpáthy returned to the balcony to see whether he would manage to overtake them.

The hunt sped onwards tempestuously. The hounds had now started a fox, but they were still a long way off, and the field was so scattered that the artful beast seemed likely to throw them off his track. He kept plunging into the bushes while his pursuers dashed past, and then, all of a sudden, darted off side-ways. But fruitless was all his craftiness; he only rushed into a fresh foe, and tried vainly to hide or double: there was no refuge to be[Pg 281] found anywhere, and the quick cracking of whips on every side of him told him that a war of extirpation against his whole race was on foot, so he resolved on flight, and gained the very first hillock, where he stopped for a moment, looked round to see from what direction the enemy was coming, and then made for the reeds with all his might.

"Look! the fox, the fox!" cried his pursuers, when they perceived him on the hillock: the next moment he had disappeared from it.

But they had seen enough of him to perceive that he was a splendid beast. He was evidently an old stager, who would give the best dogs something to do.

After him!

Off galloped the whole party in the track of the hounds, the faces of the two ladies were aglow with the passionate ardour of the chase, and at that instant there occurred to the mind of Fanny her vision of long ago: what if he, her nameless ideal, were now galloping beside her on his swift-footed steed, and could see her impetuously heading the chase till she threw herself down before him, and died there, without anybody knowing why! But Flora thought: "Suppose Rudolf were now to come face to face with me, and see me" - and then she felt again how much she loved him.

And now the fox suddenly emerged again on the open. A newly mown field, of a thousand acres or so in extent, covered with rows of haycocks, lay right before the huntsmen; and here the really interesting part of the hunt began. The fox was a fine specimen, about as big as a young wolf, but much longer in the body, and carrying behind him a provokingly big brush. He trotted leisurely in front, not because he could not go quicker, but because he wanted to economize his strength, and all the time he kept dodging to and fro, backwards and forwards, in the endeavour to tire his enemies[Pg 282] out, and ceaselessly threw glances behind him at his pursuers, out of half an eye, keeping about a hundred paces in front of them, and accelerating his pace whenever he perceived that the distance between him and them was diminishing.

And yet the very best hounds of Squire John's - Cziczke, the two white ones, and Rajkó, Matyi, big Ordas, Michael Kis's Fecske, and Count Gregory's Armida, to say nothing of the whole canine army behind them, were hard upon his traces.

The fox began to go slower and slower. He seemed to regret the brushwood from which he had leaped forth, and kept flying towards one haycock after another; as if he fancied he could find a shelter beside it, and then, snarling savagely, cantered on again. Even from afar he could be seen gnashing his teeth together when he looked back.

And indeed he was in evil case, cooped up on that level ground, where there was neither stream nor hiding-place which might shelter him from his pursuers. Sideways, indeed, lay an arm of the river Berettyo, well-known to crayfish catchers and summer-bathers as a broad and deep stream, and well would it be for him now to have that water between him and the hounds, for the foxhound will not swim if he can help it, but it looked very much as if they would surround him, and tear his skin off his back before he could reach it.

And now it was easy to perceive that his pace was diminishing, as he ran in and out among the haycocks; soon he must be completely surrounded.

"Seize him, Fecske! seize him, Rajkó! seize him, Armida!" resounded from all sides.

The dogs rushed after him with all their might.

The two white dogs were nearest to him; like the wind they rushed after him, their long slender necks straining forward as if to let the fox know that a few more minutes and they, would be upon him.[Pg 283]

Suddenly the fox stood still. Sweeping his tail beneath him, and gnashing his teeth, he faced round upon the hounds, who, taken unawares, stopped in front of him, snarling viciously, and wagging their upturned tails. The hunted beast took advantage of this momentary respite, and with a side spring slipped between the two white dogs, and tried to find a refuge more to the right.

Again they were all after him.

Now Count Gregory's Armida got nearest to him.

"Bravo Armida! The victory is yours."

Another leap. The fox suddenly crouched down, and Armida bounded over him, only perceiving when she had run twenty paces further that the fox had remained behind.

And now they all suddenly turned to the right.

"Seize him, Fecske!" cried Mike Kis.

And Fecske really did seize the fox; but the fox in his turn seized Fecske, and bit his ear so savagely that the dog immediately let go again: so that was all poor Fecske got.

And now the fox, with all his might, made straight for the Berettyo. The crafty old fellow had succeeded in checkmating all his pursuers and reaching his lurking-place. The hounds were now far behind him.

But now old Matyi, the wolf-grey, solitary foxhound, came to the front, and showed what he could do. Hitherto he had not very much exerted himself, but had let the others do what they could. He knew very well that a single dog would never catch this fox - nay, two and even three would be no match for him. It was an old fox, and they knew each other, for they had often come across each other here and there. Now then, let him show his enemy what he was made of.

Again the fox practised his old wiles, darting aside, crouching down, gnashing his teeth: all in[Pg 284] vain - he had now to do with a practised foe. If only Squire John could now have seen it all! Ask an enthusiastic fox-hunter how much he would have given for such a sight?

And now the fox stopped short again in mid career, and crouched down; but Matyi did not leap over him as the flighty Armida had done, but, as the fox turned towards him with gnashing teeth, he snapped suddenly at him from the opposite side like lightning, and in that instant all that one could see was the fox turning a somersault in the air. Matyi, seizing him by the neck had, in fact, tossed him up, and scarcely had he reached the ground again when he was seized again by the skin of his back, well shaken, and then released. Let him run a little bit longer, if he likes!

"Bravo, Matyi! bravo!" shouted everybody present.

This exclamation encouraged Matyi to show the spectators fresh specimens of his skill. By a series of masterly manœuvres he turned the fox back towards the hunters, in order that they might the better see him mount head over heels into the air again. He never held the dangerous beast in his jaws for more than one moment, for he knew that in the next the fox could seize him, and dogs have their own peculiar ideas of a fox's grip, for it is the bite of all other bites they like the least. He contented himself therefore with harrying and worrying him as much as possible without coming to too close quarters till he should have succeeded in wearing him out. The fox no longer defended himself, but simply ran straight on, limping and stumbling on three legs. Every one fancied that it was now all up with him, when, suddenly, he made another dart sideways, and perceiving a herd of oxen on the high-road, made straight towards them.

Here a pretty high fence confronted the hunters,[Pg 285] which they were obliged to take, and which gave both the ladies another opportunity of showing their agility; both of them successfully cleared it. At that moment they perceived a horseman coming towards them on the high-road, whom, owing partly to the high bushes and partly to their attention being directed elsewhere, they had not observed before.

"'Tis he!"

Flora's face that instant grew redder than ever, while Fanny's turned as pale as death.

"'Tis he!"

Both of them recognized him at the same time. 'Tis he, the loving husband of the one, the beloved ideal of the other.

Flora rushed towards him with a cry of joy. "Rudolf! Rudolf!" she cried.

Fanny, in dumb despair, turned her horse's head, and began to gallop back again.

"Good God!" cried Rudolf, whose face still burned with the kisses of his loving wife, "that lady's horse has run away with her!"

"That is Madame Kárpáthy!" cried Flora in alarm; and she whipped up her horse in the hope of overtaking her friend.

The lady was galloping helter-skelter across the plain. Every one fancied that her stallion had run away with her. Flora, old Palko, Mike Kis, and Count Gregory vainly sped after her; they could not get near her: only Rudolf was beginning to catch her up.

And now the stallion had reached the narrow dyke, and was galloping along it; on the other side of it, six fathoms in depth, were the waters of the Berettyo. A single stumble, and all would be over. But now Rudolf was catching her up, and he was the best horseman of them all. And now he was level with her. It was the first time in his life that he had seen this woman. He had no[Pg 286] idea that he had met her many and many a time before, for he had never noticed her. The stallion, with foaming mouth, rushed on, with the lady clinging to him. Her face was pale and her bosom heaved. It was just at this moment that the young man came abreast of her; her flying locks flapped his face: and she had a hundredfold more reasons now than ever for wishing to die at that moment. This youth, this ideal of her romantic dreams, was the husband of her dearest, her noblest, her loveliest friend.

Rudolf was obliged to give up all idea of stopping the maddened steed. Instead of that, and, just as Fanny fell back half-swooning from her saddle, he swiftly seized her in his muscular grip, and pulled her right on to his own saddle. The lady fainted away over his shoulder, and the horse dashed wildly onwards.[Pg 287]

 

CHAPTER XIV.

MARTYRDOM.

After this event Lady Kárpáthy was very seriously ill; for a long time her life was even despaired of. Kárpáthy summoned the most famous doctors in the world to attend to her, and they consulted and prescribed for her, but none of them could tell what was the matter. It is a great pity that nobody knows how to prescribe for the heart.

For a long time she was delirious, and talked a lot of nonsense, as sick people generally do whose fevered brains are full of phantoms.

A soft smooth hand stroked her burning forehead from time to time. It was the hand of Flora, who watched by the sick-bed night and day, denying herself sleep, denying herself even the sight of her husband, despite the terrifying suggestions of Dame Marion, who maintained that Madame Kárpáthy was sickening for small-pox.

If that had been all the poor woman was suffering from, how little it would have been!

At last Nature triumphed. A young constitution usually struggles more severely with Death than an old one, and throws him off more quickly. Fanny was delivered from death. When first she was able to look around her with an unclouded mind, she perceived two persons sitting by her side; one was Flora, the other - Teresa.[Pg 288]

Though nothing in the world would have induced Teresa to call upon Fanny as a visitor, the very first rumour of her severe illness brought her to her side. She arrived on the very day when a change for the better had set in, and relieved Flora by taking her turn in the nursing.

Nevertheless, Lady Szentirmay would not depart till she knew for certain that her friend was out of danger, and therefore resolved to wait a few days longer.

So Fanny regained life and consciousness; she no longer chattered oddly and unintelligibly, but lay very still and quiet. She was cured, the doctors said.

And now she could coldly review the whole course of her life. What was he, what had she become now, and what would become of her in the future?

She was the scion of a wretched and shameful family, from whose fate she had only been snatched by hands which, wont to lift themselves in prayer to God, had shielded and defended her against every danger, and prepared for her a peaceful and quiet refuge, where she might have lived like a bird of the forest in its hidden nest.

This refuge she had been forced to quit, in order to take her place in the great world - that great world which had so much in it that was terrifying to her.

Then she had sought a woman's heart that could understand her, and a manly face that might serve her for an ideal.

And she had found them both - the noble-hearted friend, who had been so good, so kind to her, far better and kinder than she had dared to hope; and the idolized youth, of whose heart and mind the world itself had even grander and finer things to say than she herself had ever lavished upon him. And this woman, and this idol of a man were spouses - and he happiest of spouses too![Pg 289]

What must her portion be now?

She must be the dumb witness of that very bliss which she pictured to herself so vividly. Every day she must see the happy face of her friend, and listen to the sweet secrets of her rapture. She must listen while his name is magnified by another; she must look upon the majestic countenance of the youth whom she may not worship - nay, she must not even dare to speak of him, lest her blushes and the tremor of her voice should betray what no man must ever know!

How happy she would have been now, had she never learnt to know this passion, if she had never allowed her soul to fly away after unattainable desires! If only she had listened to that honest old woman she would now be sitting at home in her quiet peaceful cottage among the meadows, with nothing to think of but her flowers!

That was all, all over now!

She was no longer able to go either backwards or forwards. Only to live on, live on, one day after another, and, as every day came round, to sigh, as she got up to face it: "Yet another day!"

But her husband, that good old fellow, what of him?

Only now did Kárpáthy feel how much he loved his wife! Perhaps if she had died he would not have survived her. Sometimes the doctors would allow him to see his wife, and at such times he would stand with streaming eyes at the foot of the sick woman's bed, kissing her hand, and weeping like a child. At last his wife was out of danger. On her departure, Lady Szentirmay impressed upon Kárpáthy the necessity of taking great care of Fanny, of not letting her get up too soon and take cold, of rigorously carrying out the doctor's directions, of not letting her read too long at a time, of allowing her, in a week's time or so, to go out for a drive, if the weather was fine, and[Pg 290] she was well wrapped up, and much more to the same effect. Women understand these things so much better than men.

Kárpáthy called down endless blessings on the head of his kind neighbour as he bade her adieu, and promised to come and see her as soon as possible.

"It is now your turn to come and see us," said she. "In a month's time, I hope Fanny will be able to redeem the promise she made to come and see me and my husband at home. I don't think, however, that I'll say good-bye to her now, for fear of disturbing her; it will be better if you will tell her of my departure."

Armed with this commission, and ascertaining first of all from Teresa that Fanny was now awake, and might be seen without harm, he stole softly to her room on the tips of his toes, went up to the bed, gently smoothed down her hair, took her hand in his, and asked how she was.

"Quite well," replied the invalid, and she tried to smile.

The smile was but a poor success, but it did Squire John good to see the attempt, at any rate.

"Lady Szentirmay sends her love; she has just gone."

Fanny made no reply to this, but she drew his hand across her forehead, as if she wished to drive from thence the thought which arose within it.

Kárpáthy fancied that his hand was cooling, perhaps, to the poor hot forehead, so he pressed it tenderly.

Then Fanny seized his hand with both her own, and drew it to her lips. How happy Kárpáthy felt at that moment! He turned aside for a moment, lest she should see the tears in his eyes.

Fanny fancied he would have gone away, and drew him still closer to her.[Pg 291]

"Don't go away," she said - "stay here; let us talk!"

"You see," continued she, "that I am quite myself again now. In a short time I shall be able to get up. Don't be angry with me if I ask you to do me a favour?"

"Ask not one favour, but a thousand favours!" cried Kárpáthy, rejoicing that his wife asked anything of him at all.

"Are you not getting ready a new mansion at Pest?" asked Fanny.

"You wish to live there, perhaps?" cried Kárpáthy, hastening to anticipate his wife's wishes. "You can take possession of it at a moment's notice, and, if you don't like it, and want something more handsome, I'll have another built for you this winter."

"Thanks, but I shall be quite satisfied with the one at Pest. I have been thinking to myself what an entirely new life we'll begin to live there together."

"Yes, indeed; we will have lots of company, and of the merriest, - splendid parties - - "

"I did not mean that. I am thinking of serious things, of charitable objects. Oh! we who are rich have so many obligations towards the suffering, towards the community, towards humanity."

Poor woman! how she would have escaped from her own burning heart amidst coldly sublime ideas!

"As you please. Seek your joy, then, in drying the eyes of the tearful. Be happy in the blessings which Gratitude will shower upon your name."

"Then you promise me this?"

"I am happy in being able to do anything that pleases you."

"Nay, be not too indulgent. I warn you that will only make me more exacting."

"Speak, speak! would that there were no end[Pg 292] to your wishes! Believe me, only then am I unhappy, when I see that nothing delights you, when you are sorrowful, when there's nothing you feel a liking for - then, indeed, I am very, very unhappy! Would you like to go to a watering-place this summer? Where would you like to go? Command me, where would you feel most happy?"

Fanny began reflecting. Whither away? Anywhere, if it only were far enough! Away from the neighbourhood of the Szentirmays, and never come back again!

"Mehadia, I think, would be the nicest place. That is far enough away anyhow," thought she.

"I'll engage for you beforehand the best quarters procurable for the coming summer: it really is a very pleasant place."

"And I have something else to ask."

Kárpáthy could scarce contain himself for joy.

"But it is a greater and more serious wish than all the rest."

"All the better. What is it?"

"I should like you to come with me everywhere, and to be with me always, and never leave me."

Ah, this was more than a human heart could bear! The foolish old man went down on his knees beside the bed of his wife, and covered her hands with his tears and kisses.

"How have I deserved this happiness, this goodness from you!" he cried.

The lady smiled sadly, and for a long, long time she did not release her husband's hand from her own. Kárpáthy spent half the day by her bedside in gentle prattle, listening to the modest wishes of his dear sick little wife, and happy beyond expression at being allowed to give her her tonics from time to time.

A few days afterwards Fanny was able to leave her bed, and, leaning against her husband's shoulder, walked up and down the room. Day by[Pg 293] day her health returned, and she grew more and more like her old self. And then she would spend whole days with her husband, and bring her embroidery or her book into his room; or she would invite him into her room, when she played the piano; or would drive about with him, in fact, she never left him. She did not wish for any other society. She directed the servants that if any of her old visitors came to see her, they were to be told she was not feeling well, and all the time she would be sitting inside with her husband, and forcing herself to make him happy and load him with joy.

During these days she had very little to do even with Teresa, and very shortly her worthy kinswoman took her leave. Fanny parted from her without tears or sorrow, yet Teresa saw into her soul. When she had kissed the silent lips, and was sitting in the carriage on her way home, she sighed involuntarily, "Poor girl! poor girl!"[Pg 294]