Free The Hound of Florence by Felix Salten Page B

valley, had already started off at a trot, but drawing rein, they turned the horses on to the grass by the side of the road and leaped down from their ­saddles. The column scattered right and left, and the rest of the carriages, with the pack-mules and the Archduke’s baggage-­wagons, which had yet to come up, began to pour higgledy-piggledy out of the woods.
    The fields stretched in radiant softness down the slope toward the valley. In a moment a throng of gaily dressed folk had spread over them. The sound of voices filled the air, to the accompaniment of the clank of chains and arms, the rattle of wheels, the creaking of saddles and harness, the stamping and neighing of horses, and the hubbub set up by the servants, busily taking hampers from the wagons in order to prepare a meal and arrange for the comfort of the company.
    A little way off the Archduke was walking up and down a piece of open ground with Count Waltersburg. He seemed in good spirits. Pointner followed them while the dog frolicked about.
    Far below in the distance, glowing in the rays of the sun, Tuscany beckoned invitingly to them. Its bright green fields extended as far as eye could see to the shimmering sapphire of the hills beyond, while dotted far and wide over the carpet of turf the white marble houses of town and village flashed their light up to the heights, and cupolas and turrets shone like precious stones.
    â€œIs that Florence over there?” asked the Archduke, pointing.
    Count Waltersburg peered into the distance with the air of an expert. “’Pon my soul, I do not know,” he replied at last.
    Pointner began to laugh, and Waltersburg turned round in a huff.
    â€œJust look, Your Grace, how that dog is standing!” cried Pointner. “He looks exactly as though he too were wondering whether it is Florence or not. . . .”
    They all turned to look at the dog who was standing with his neck stretched out and his ears pricked, looking down into the valley.
    â€œWell, Cambyses,” said the Archduke, smiling and bending down to pat him, “perhaps you know whether that is Florence?”
    The dog cringed with fear at his touch, but quickly raised his head to his master, ran forward a few steps, and then stopped still again, as though to examine the landscape once more.
    They took no further notice of him.
    Presently when the Archduke had sat down to table with Count Waltersburg, Pointner, who was waiting on them, suddenly exclaimed: “Whom is Cambyses making such a fuss about over there?”
    Turning they saw an old man with a gray beard emerging from the undergrowth, bowing to all sides, and talking, laughing and calling the dog, who was gamboling round him in a mad dance of joy, yelping with delight.
    The Archduke frowned and sprang to his feet. “Strange,” he murmured, and obviously put out, advanced toward the couple. The others followed.
    Neither the old man nor the dog noticed their approach. The dog seemed to be completely beside himself, and ran breathless round and round the man, now jumping violently up at him, as though he wanted to knock him down or embrace him, now scampering away as though daring the man to catch him. The man bent round and twisted about, until his little knapsack slid from his back up his neck, and laughed in bewildered delight.
    â€œYes, well, what do you want?” he repeated softly. “What’s the matter with you? . . . Yes . . . Good dog! . . . Are we such friends then, for you to make such a fuss over me? . . . Yes. . . . Ha! . . . I never did. . . . Have you gone mad? . . . Yes, good dog! . . . But I tell you I don’t know you. . . .”
    â€œI say, you fellow!”
    At the sudden sound of the Archduke’s voice the old man started with fear, and his flustered movement forced the former, who had come close up to him, to step back a pace or two. The old man