"You think there is no other inference?"

The American shook his head. "Always the way with these leaders of

revolution. It's Samson's strength with Samson's weakness in every

mother's son of them."

"Good-morning, General Potter!" said a cheerful voice from the carriage

in front.

It was Roma herself. She sat by the side of the little Princess, with

David Rossi on the seat before them. Her eyes were bright, there was a

glow in her cheeks, and she looked lovelier than ever in her

close-fitting riding-habit.

At the meeting-place there was a vast crowd of on-lookers, chiefly

foreigners, in cabs and carriages and four-in-hand coaches from the

principal hotels. The Master of the Hunt was ready, with his impatient

hounds at his feet, and around him was a brilliant scene. Officers in

blue, huntsmen in red, ladies in black, jockeys in jackets, a sea of

feathers and flowers and sunshades, with the neighing of the horses and

yapping of the dogs, the vast undulating country, the smell of earth and

herbs, and the morning sunlight over all.

Don Camillo was waiting with horses for his party, and they mounted

immediately. The horse for Roma was a quiet bay mare with limpid eyes.

General Potter helped her to the saddle, and she went cantering through

the long lush grass.

"What has your charming young charge been doing with herself, Princess?"

said the American. "She was always beautiful, but to-day she's lovely."

"She's like Undine after she had found her soul," said the Englishman.

The little Princess laughed. "Love and a cough cannot be hidden,

gentlemen," she whispered, with a look toward David Rossi.

"You don't mean...."

"Hush!"

Meantime Rossi, in ordinary walking dress, was approaching the horse he

was intended to ride. It was a high strong-limbed sorrel with wild eyes

and panting nostrils. The English groom who held it was regarding the

rider with a doubtful expression, and a group of booted and spurred

huntsmen were closing around.

To everybody's surprise, the deputy gathered up the reins and leaped

lightly to the saddle, and at the next moment he was riding at Roma's

side. Then the horn was sounded, the pack broke into music, the horses

beat their hoofs on the turf and the hunt began.

There was a wall to jump first, and everybody cleared it easily until it

came to David Rossi's turn, when the sorrel refused to jump. He patted

the horse's neck and tried it again, but it shied and went off with its

head between its legs. A third time he brought the sorrel up to the

wall, and a third time it swerved aside.




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