I know not what hour of the evening it was, but it must have been hard by to midnight, when our curiosity, which hitherto had been wholly engaged with one another, was diverted by the arrival of a guest. My companion was improvising an air on his instrument, when something of a commotion was heard at the door, and to our surprise a lady without attendance stepped into the inn and called for the servants in a loud clear voice. The manner of her entrance caused the Count of Nullepart to lay his flageolet on the table, and to regard the fair intruder with a curiosity equal to that she had awakened in me. Fair she was indeed, since we could discern enough of her face to tell us so much. She was both young and frail, hardly more than a child, and she was habited in a coarse grey riding-dress that was covered with dust. But she had a most proud and fearless face; and when the landlord came forward in answer to her summons, in spite of her plain and almost rustic attire, she addressed him with so much insolence that she might have been a queen. “Fellow,” she said, “my horse hath a shoe cast. Put him to bed with some oats and good straw, and do you see to it that a smith is summoned at five of the morning. At six I go upon my journey.” The landlord bowed with proper humility, and declared that he would attend her commands. “That is well,” said she. “And do you bring me some food, for I have not broken my fast since an hour before noon.” When the landlord had gone about these behests, she sank down on a settle in a condition of extreme weariness, threw down her whip petulantly, drew off her riding gauntlets, and flung them upon the floor. In the meantime the Count of Nullepart had filled his cup out of the last of the numerous bottles of wine to which we had yielded ourselves, and he now carried it across the room with a wonderful air. “Madam,” he said, proffering this beaker with an indescribable grace, “if I may serve you, you will make me happy.” “I thank you, friend,” she said, accepting the goblet, and sipping the wine without any hesitation at all. “With your permission, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart, “I will go forth and see to it that your horse is bedded worthily and hath a supper of oats.” “Do so, friend, and I will thank you for your service.” The little lady spoke with the sweet insolence of one who is accustomed to be served.