XII
JOYFUL OF HEART
THE storm had passed; day broke calm and radiant over the Castle of Praslok; sunshine played caressingly on the lake and on the hills.
Markart had breakfasted and paid a visit to his horse; he wanted to be off by nine o'clock, and waited only for the Prince 's letter. He was returning from the stables, sniffing the morning air with a vivid enjoyment of the change of weather, when he saw Sophy coming along the road. She had been for a walk. Her eyes and cheeks glowed with exhilaration. She wore her sheepskin tunic, her sheepskin cap with its red cockade, and her short, blue skirt over high boots. She walked as though on the clouds of heaven, a wonderful lightness in her tread; the Red Star signalled the exaltation of her spirit; the glad sound of the trumpet rang in her heart.
Her cordial greeting to Markart was spiced with raillery, to which he responded as well as his ignorance allowed; he was uncertain how much she knew of the real situation. But if his tongue was embarrassed, his eyes spoke freely. He could not keep them from her face; to him she seemed a queen of life and joy that glorious morning.
"You've recovered from your fright?" she asked. "Poor Monsieur Zerkovitch is still sleeping his off, I suppose! Oh, the story's all over the Castle!"
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