Our way back to Brussels led again through the forest, which now was wrapped in the shade, save where the moon came peeping down through the leafy branches, and fell in bright patches on the road beneath. The countess spoke a little at first, but gradually relapsed into perfect silence. The stillness and calm about seemed only the more striking from the hollow tramp of the horses, as they moved along the even turf; the air was mild and sweet, and loaded with that peculiar fragrance which a wood exhales after nightfall; and all the influences of the time and place were of that soothing, lulling kind that wraps the mind in a state of dreamy reverie. But one thought dwelt within me: it was of her who sat beside me, her head cast down, and her arms folded. She was unhappy; some secret sorrow was preying upon that fair bosom, some eating care corroding her very heart. A vague, shadowy suspicion shot through me that her husband might have treated her cruelly and ill. But why suspect this? Was not everything I witnessed the very reverse of such a fact? What could surpass the mutual kindliness and good feeling that I saw between them! And yet their dispositions were not at all alike: she seemed to hint as much. The very waywardness of his temperament; the incessant demand of his spirit for change, excitement, and occupation-- how could it harmonise with her gentle and more constant nature? From such thoughts I was awakened by her saying, in a low faint voice-- ‘You must forget what I said to-night. There are moments when some strong impulse will force the heart to declare the long-buried thoughts of years. Perhaps some secret instinct tells us that we are near to those who can sympathise and feel for us; perhaps these are the overflowings of grief, without which the heart would grow full to bursting. Whatever they be, they seem to calm and soothe us, though afterwards we may sorrow for having indulged in them. You will forget it all, won’t you?’ ‘I will do my best,’ said I timidly, ‘to do all you wish; but I cannot promise you what may be out of my power. The few words you spoke have never left my mind since; nor can I say when I shall cease to remember them.’ ‘What do you think, Duischka?’ said the count, as he flung away the fragment of his cigar, and turned round on the box--’ what do you think of an invitation to dinner I have accepted for Tuesday next?’ ‘Where, pray?’ said she, with an effort to seem interested. ‘I am to dine with my worthy friend Van Houdicamp, Rue de Lacken, No. 28. A very high mark, let me tell you; his father was burgomaster at Alost, and he himself has a great sugar bakery, or salt _raffinerie_, or something equivalent, at Scharbeck.’ ‘How can you find any pleasure in such society, Gustav?’