angely wearied sad smile,
that appears when we are too proud to show we have cause to weep, but
something far more mournful; a strange, fierce, implacable expression
hovered around the lips, the expression that a face might wear after a
heavy life storm in which every hope has perished, or when madness is
approaching. Edwin was overwhelmed with an emotion of such deep sorrow,
that after his fruitless attempt to break the ice, he remained
perfectly silent. The air was still and oppressive, a few solitary
drops fell, but there was no steady rain; not a bird moved in the
forest, no human being met them; only from the distance they
occasionally heard sounds from the hunting party, the barking of a dog
and the thud of horses' hoofs, which at last died away in the forest.

The road led through the village at the foot of the mountain. Peasant
women with their children stood in the doorways as they passed, and
eagerly greeted the young countess. A very young woman with a baby
stepped directly before them. Toinette stopped a moment, lifted the
rosy-cheeked little creature into the carriage, kissed it and asked the
mother various questions concerning it. When she gave it back to her
again, a crowd of village children had collected, who all held out
their little hands and cried good morning. The countess gave the oldest
a handful of shining silver. "You must divide it, Hans," said she.
"Give something to each. But you must be good and go to school
regularly." The mothers came forward and thanked her in the name of the
little people. The next moment the horses moved forward again, and they
left the village behind them.

"They love you very dearly here," said Edwin.

"I can't help it," she replied. "It's easy to seem like a divinity to
these poor people, if we merely treat them kindly. But if the gods have
no other happiness than that of being idolized, they're really not to
be envied."

Then they were both silent again. They had left the wide highway and
turned into a narrower road, where the carriage rolled noiselessly over
the soft earth. Meantime the sky had grown darker, and a fine warm
summer rain was beginning to sprinkle their faces. Suddenly Toinette
stopped the horses.

"If it will be agreeable to you," said she, "let's get out and walk a
little way on foot. We shall reach the ranger's house too early even
then."

He sprang out and offered her his arm, which she only touched with the
tips of her fingers. Jean, who