He was in a very contented frame of mind, both as regarded himself and the world at large.  Here he was, a strong, healthy young man, with a generous share of this world’s goods, and the pleasurable thought that he was engaged to be married to a girl who suited him, and who would, he knew, make him a good wife.

A heavy, lumbering carriage came up the narrow, uneven road, along which he was trudging.  There was a large trunk strapped on the back, and various bundles and boxes covered the seats within.  Willibald wondered to himself why any one had chosen such a miserable little lane, which the recent rains had made totally unfit for vehicles, instead of taking the wide, decently paved street.  The coachman seemed to be in anything but a happy frame of mind.  He turned now in his seat, and said to the traveler, of whom Willibald had not caught a glimpse: 

“Now really Fraeulein, we can go no farther.  I told you before that we couldn’t get through here, and now you see for yourself how the wheels stick in the mud—­its a pretty piece of business.”

“It is not very far,” sounded a clear young voice from the depths of the carriage.  “Only a few hundred steps, farther.  So please go on no matter how slowly.”

“What can’t be done, can’t be done!” announced the driver in a philosophic tone.  “I cannot go forward through this mire, and I won’t.  We must turn back.”

“I will not ride through the town.”  The clear voice had a decided, defiant tone this time.  “If you won’t go through this lane, stop, and I’ll get out here.”

The driver stopped at once, clambered down from his seat and opened the heavy door, and a second later a slender girl jumped from the carriage; jumped skillfully, too, for she landed on a dry place without coming in contact with the mud and mire which surrounded her on all sides.  Then she took a view of her surroundings.  But just before her the road had an abrupt turn, so she could not see very far.

The young lady was evidently annoyed to find herself farther from her destination than she had supposed.  Then her glance fell on Herr von Eschenhagen, who, coming from the other direction, had just reached the bend in the road.

“I beg pardon, sir, but is the road passable?”

He did not answer at once for he was dumb with admiration at the wonderful and graceful leap which she had just made.  She had gone through the air like a feather, and landed on the only dry spot on the whole road.

“Don’t you hear me?” she repeated, impatiently.  “Do you know whether the road is passable or not?”

“I—­I am on the road now,” he answered, rather staggered by the sharp, dictatorial tone.

“I can see that for myself.  But I have no high boots like you.  What I want to know is whether the road is as muddy as this all the way or not?  Are there any dry places?  Great heavens! can’t you answer?”

“I—­I believe you will find it dry after you get past this bend here.”