When it arrived at the forest, the horses knew just where they had to halt.

Here the gentleman assisted his veiled companion to alight, gave her his left arm, because he held in his right hand a heavy walking-stick, in the center of which was concealed a long, three-edged poniard, an effective weapon in the hands of him who knew how to wield it.
In silence the man and the maid promenaded along the green sward in the shade of the trees.

A campanula had just opened its blue eye at the foot of one of the trees, and pale-blue forget-me-nots grew along the path.
Blue was the little maid's favorite color; but she was not permitted to pluck the flowers herself.

She had never been told why she must not do this; perhaps it was because the flowers belonged to some one else.
Sometimes the little maid's steps were so light and elastic, as if a fairy were gliding over the dewy grass; and sometimes she walked so slowly, so wearily, as if a little old grandmother came limping along, hunting for lichens on the mossy ground.
After the promenade, they seated themselves again in the carriage, which returned to the Nameless Castle, and the gates were closed again.
The man conducted the maid to her room, and the serious occupation of the day began.

Books were produced, and the man proceeded to explain the classics.