She loved it because it had as yet afforded her so little delight.

She loved it because she had so much happiness, so much rapture and enjoyment yet to hope from it.

She did not wish to die yet, for she was ever waiting for that life of which she had a foretaste only in her dreams, and which her palpitating and swelling heart told her was ready to awake in her, and, with its sunny, brilliant eyes, arouse her from the winter sleep of her existence.
It was a bright and beautiful spring day.

Catharine wanted to avail herself of it, to take a ride and forget for one brief hour that she was a queen.

She wanted to enjoy the woods, the sweet May breeze, the song of birds, the green meadows, and to inhale in full draughts the pure air.
She wanted to ride.