The princess having replied to her husband that she was ready, the master of Pampeln gave a signal, the horns sounded, the dogs barked twice as loud as before, the riders gave the reins to their mounts, and the party set out. Five minutes later the whole troop was galloping along the road to Elva. It was about twenty minutes from the start when, taking advantage of the fact that Pierre Olsdorf was in earnest conference with his _stremenoy_--as the Russians call the chief huntsman--Paul Meyrin drew near to the princess. As usual, she was encircled by a crowd of adorers, among whom was naturally found that good fellow Podoi, who, in spite of his age, was still a daring sportsman. It seemed as if the old soldier had foretold the truth in assuring the Countess Barineff, to persuade her to accept his name, that in marrying him she would be restoring his youth to him. He had never been more smart. "I must compliment you, monsieur," said Lise Olsdorf to the young painter when she saw him take up a position at some paces from her, after making his horse execute a curvet that was both clever and daring. The fact is, Paul Meyrin, without belonging to any great school of horsemanship, rode as few men can ride. His horse, a hardy little mare of the country, full of fire, at first had tried all she could to unseat him, but soon finding that she was under her master, she had yielded, her mouth full of foam and her flanks quivering. Paul, replying only by a bow to the young woman's compliment, joined the others who were cantering near her. In rather more than another half hour they came to the Elva farm, where such as did not accompany the prince further were to rest a short time before returning to Pampeln. Forewarned by a huntsman sent on in advance, the farmer Soublaieff was there with his people, but before any one else had approached the princess, the painter was by her side and offering his hand. A little surprised at his quick movement, Lise Olsdorf hesitated for a moment; but feeling that to refuse the aid of the young foreigner would be to confess, by implication, that she thought him dangerous, she swayed forward, and he lifted her to the ground so lightly and cleverly, and with such strength of arm, that the sensation was a pleasant one for her. "Thanks, monsieur," she said, lifting the long skirt of her riding-habit over her arm. "Do you stay with us, then?" "I am not a sportsman, Madame la Princess," he replied, "so that I ask permission to return with you to Pampeln." "You know well that all our guests are perfectly free to do what best pleases themselves." And Lise Olsdorf, who was unwilling to approve in any other form the artist's intention, left him, to respond affectionately to the salutation of a young girl barely sixteen years old who was advancing to meet her. It was Vera, Soublaieff's daughter.