"Presumably, highness, because the duke's covers lie in the opposite direction"--she made a vague gesture--"and you never drove past this way and because his majesty will never suffer the name of Balthazar Zanti to be uttered in his presence." "But none of the equerries...." The duchess laughed still more merrily, looked at the prince, who was also chuckling, and said: "It is certainly unpardonable of them not to have informed you more fully of the curiosities in the province of Vaza. But ... now that I think of it, highness, it's quite natural. The castle was empty last year: Zanti was travelling about the country, making speeches. You remember, they were afterwards forbidden by law. His name, therefore, had no local significance here at the time...." The prince was still staring at the castle, which never came fully into view, when the carriage, in a turn of the road, almost touched a little group as it drove past them, against the slope of a vineyard: an old man, a young girl, a dog. The girl was frail, slender, pale, fair-haired, dressed in furs in spite of the sun and retaining beneath them a certain morbid elegance; she sat on the grass, wearing a dark fur toque on her silvery fair hair; her long, white hand, ungloved, soothingly and insistingly patted the curly head of the retriever, which barked at the carriage. Next to her stood a tall, erect old man, looking eccentric in a wide, grey smock-frock: a grey giant, with a heavy beard and sombre eyes, which shone with a dull light from under the brim of a soft felt hat. The dog barked; the girl bowed--she recognized the duchess as a neighbour--without knowing who the prince was; the old man, however, looked straight before him, frowning and making no sign. The carriage rattled past. "That was Zanti," whispered the duchess. "Zanti!" repeated the prince. "And how long has he been living here?" "Only a very short time: I believe the doctors think the air of Vaza good for his daughter." "Was that young girl his daughter?" "Yes, highness. I have seen her once before; she appears to be delicate." "Prince Zanti, is he not?" "Certainly, highness; but, by his own wish, Zanti quite plain.... Titles are all nonsense in the nineteenth century, highness." She jested and yet felt a silent shudder, she knew not why. She thought it ominous that Zanti had come to live so near to Castel Vaza. Shivering, she gave a quick side-glance at the prince. She perceived a strange pensiveness drawing over his face like a shadow. Then, to change the conversation and to think no longer of that horrid man: "You are looking much better, highness, than you did this morning. The air has done you good...."