"Forward!" cried Felix. "We have no other choice, and I know the road through the wood. Undoubtedly, Stephanopulos is also very well acquainted with the country about here. This region was the classic site of the May festivals that the artists used to give. Take my word for it, we shall find our fugitives in the next village."
He urged on his horse, but the heavy darkness now forced them to moderate their speed. Riding at a walk, they plunged into the blackness of the little wood which fringes the high bank of the Isar, and which, in summertime, is the goal of so many weary city-folk. Now, it was so gloomy that even Felix felt a cold shudder pass through his very bones. Down in the deep ravines the water roared, and the wind sighed mournfully through the bare tree-tops. Jansen's animal shied and reared, but his rider sat in the saddle like the stone Commendatore; he had hardly spoken a word for an hour.
Suddenly Felix reined in his horse. "Do you see there?" said he, in a suppressed voice. "I'll wager we have them. It's high time. My horse has gone lame in its right fore-foot."
Across a cleared patch in the wood they saw the village which the artists had used as a rallying-point in the picnics of which Felix had spoken. A house, with a rather high roof, stood out like a silhouette against the gray sky, showing, in its second story, a row of brightly-lighted windows.
"Unless they happen to be celebrating a wedding here, other guests must be in those rooms," said Felix. "Let's ride nearer, and cut across this field; although there's not much fear that they could escape us now, even if we should besiege their hiding-place from the open road."
The horses, giving a low neigh--for they scented a crib of oats--stamped through the slippery mud, and drew up before the fence that separated the inn court-yard from the street.
"We are right," whispered Felix, who stood up in his stirrups in order to look over the fence. "The carriage is standing there in the yard--two people are busy unloading the trunks--the fellow holding the lantern is probably the coachman. Now for it, in God's name!"
He swung himself from his horse, and stepped up to his friend to help him out of the saddle. "Come," he said, patting the streaming horse on the neck. "Whatever you are going to do, do it quickly. You will probably find the whole company together, up-stairs; and, while you are doing what is right up there, I will see to our horses and follow in five minutes. Or do you want me to go up with you at once?"