"And so you rode away?" said the musician then, laying his hand on the horse’s shoulder.
It was to Steven as if that lean hand had kindly touched himself.
"Aye—I got the first nag to be had for money, and rode away, leaving her my carriage and horses and servants. For a Countess Waldorff-Kielmansegg must have her equipage! That episode is closed!"
The rider chucked his reins and set the rested horse to his labour up the hill once more.
Geiger-Hans had remained a second, gazing at the stones in the road; then he roused himself, and caught up the rider in a couple of quick strides. His shoulders were rounded as beneath a burden. Yet Fate had played him too many scurvy tricks for him to indulge in the astounded rebellion of youth. After a while he looked up and spoke again.
"These women," he said, "these children—they insult a man because they do not understand. Mischief has been made—mischief is always alert somewhere when marriage-bells are ringing. Go back to her!"
"Go back to her!" said the fiddler again, as he trudged the stony way. "Be generous——"
Steven laughed out loud; and Geiger-Hans knew that the wound had gone deeper even than he suspected.
"I am for Vienna," said the bridegroom briefly. "But I shall make fit settlements upon her, never fear, and such provisions as may safeguard her honour ... and my own. And as——"
"Nay, comrade," interrupted the other, sharply, "such a union as yours—why, ’twould be the easiest contract to annul that ever two young fools repented of."
Steven’s hands contracted over the leather.
"Do you think so?" said he, and grew darkly crimson. "Oh, of course," he said, and laughed, "that would be much the best. Aha! Annul! Well, she has only to wish it."
The musician, observing him, showed now a lighter countenance, and presently smiled to himself. Then he shifted his instrument from his back to his breast and began to twang the strings, as if in deep reflection.
"We shall part at the top of the hill," said the rider.
"Shall we?" said the wayfarer. "I think not. Listen, my lord."
The rousing autumn wind brought indeed a strange distant rumour on its wings, and the fiddler imposed silence on his restless fingers and stood still himself, leaning his ear.