During the summer manœuvres a squadron was quartered in our village. The chief, a provincial “lady killer,” with a face upon which high-thinking had never been expressed, was the possessor of a very inflammable heart; he fell a victim to my blue eyes, and it wouldn’t have been me if I hadn’t tried to get up a flirtation with him, though he was ridiculous to the highest degree, and saluted me so funnily, bringing his heels together with a snap. He used every means in his power to conquer me and made the most wonderful eyes at me; (when mamma was not looking of course). He began to be immensely sentimental and sang to me to a guitar accompaniment, old love songs, something very pleading and lamentable, with a burden of “I love thee so!” turning up his eyes a good deal as if he was in pain. He was not gifted with much perception of time and tune, my Troubadour, and I could hardly keep serious when he looked so doleful, with his hand pressed to his breast and his eyes devouring me with a passionate gaze. I used to ride on horseback a great deal, accompanied by my sentimental officer. One day, whilst my white mare was galloping wildly across the open moors, my saddle unbuckled and I felt it turning with me; I slipt out of it and found myself sitting on the grass, unhurt, and was on my legs all right in a moment, having luckily disengaged my foot from the stirrup. A few days afterwards I escaped from another danger. We were to take a drive in the woods that evening; Mr. K., a friend of my brothers, asked me to take him with me in my dog-cart. As I didn’t care particularly for his company, I contrived to put off our drive for some time and suggested a game of croquet. In the middle of our game Mr. K. uttered a piercing scream and fell down in a violent fit of epilepsy. I was dreadfully frightened and scrambled, without ceremony, over the fence of the croquet-ground. None of us had before suspected Mr. K. to be epileptic, and if I hadn’t delayed our drive, this attack would have happened in my dog-cart and the consequences might have been terribly disastrous. It makes me shudder when I think of it! I went out driving one day with a dashing young officer, Count Podgoritchany, his sister Mary and my dolorous Troubadour. I was in a mood just then to do something foolish, and it struck me that it would be charming fun to take a ride astride on the horse which drove us, and thus, becoming deaf to Mary’s frantic remonstrance and casting dignity to the winds, I perched myself on our steed, who broke into a gallop, whilst my cavaliers ran by my side holding me steadily. That was certainly very unladylike and shocking of me!