"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.