ar between Austria and Italy in 1859, Frau von Chabert was
in London, where she lived alone in a small, one-storied house with her
servants, and was in constant communication with emigrants from all
countries.

She herself was thought to be a Polish refugee, and the luxury by which
she was surrounded, and a fondness for sport, and above all for horses,
which was remarkable even in England, made people give her the title of
Countess. At that period Count T---- was one of the most prominent
members of the Hungarian propaganda, and Frau von Chabert was
commissioned to pay particular attention to all he said and did; but in
spite of all the trouble she took, she had not hitherto even succeeded
in making his acquaintance. He lived the life of a misanthrope, quite
apart from the great social stream of London, and he was not believed to
be either gallant, or ardent in love. Fellow-countrymen of his, who had
known him formerly, during the Magyar revolution, described him as very
cautious, cold and silent, so that if any man possessed a charm against
the toils, which she set for him, it was he.

Just then it happened that as Wanda was riding in Hyde Park quite early
one morning before there were many people about, her thoroughbred
English mare took fright, and threatened to throw the plucky rider, who
did not for a moment lose her presence of mind, from the saddle. Before
her groom had time to come to her assistance, a man in a Hungarian
braided coat rushed from the path, and caught hold of the animal's
reins. When the mare had grown quite quiet, he was about to go away with
a slight bow, but Frau von Chabert detained him, so that she might thank
him, and so had leisure to examine him more closely. He was neither
young nor handsome, but was well-made, like all Hungarians are, and had
an interesting and very expressive face. He had a sallow complexion,
which was set off by a short, black full beard, and he looked as if he
were suffering, while he fixed two, great, black fanatical eyes on the
beautiful young woman, who was smiling at him so amiably, and it was the
strange look in those large eyes which aroused in the soul of the woman
who was so excitable, that violent, but passing feeling which she called
_love_. She turned her horse and accompanied the stranger on his side,
and he seemed to be even more charmed by her chatter than by her
appearance, for his grave face grew more and more animated, and at last
he himself became q