"Opinions are very equally divided," said he, "so that there does not seem to be any favourite. As for the horses, they both come of good stock; one, Beverley, is by Augustus out of Cybele, and the other, Captain Morave, is by Camel out of Vengeress; both of them have spent two hunting seasons in England. As for the gentleman-riders, they are the Baron de Merteuil and the Marquis de Senneterre, and have each acquired a tremendous reputation among the upper crust of the habitués of Melton. They are said to equal our intrepid Captain Beacher, who broke his last sound limb (the left forearm) in last year's steeplechase, at St. Albans. One must be brave to face such danger. I have seen many races, I have been to hunts and steeplechases in Ireland, where they have stone walls instead of hedges, but the walls are never more than three or four feet high. To tell the truth, I have never seen anything worse than that bar," said Sir Henry ——, turning again towards the terrible barrier.
At every moment new carriages were arriving, and the crowd of spectators becoming greater. This crowd was divided into two distinct parties; the first, which was the greater majority, consisted of persons who knew nothing of the rumours of society, and only saw in this race a sort of show, whose peril they never suspected.
The smaller number, enlightened as to the reason and object assigned to this challenge, understood perfectly well the danger these gentleman-riders were about to expose themselves to.
But I must say that all of the spectators, especially these last, were waiting for the hour of the race with an impatience that I shared with them, and was almost ashamed of. Very soon the crowd rushed towards the centre of the circle.
Messieurs de Senneterre and de Merteuil had just got out of a carriage, and were mounting their horses to go to the starting-point.
M. de Merteuil looked to be no more than twenty-five, of an elegant and graceful figure, and a charming face; he was calm and smiling, though rather pale. He wore a silk jacket, half black and half white, with a cap to match, his breeches were of pale yellow buckskin, and, to complete his costume, he wore top-boots. He rode Captain Morave.
Captain Morave was a splendid bay horse, in such good condition that you could almost see the blood circulating in the veins under his fine, silky coat, which fairly reflected the light. You could have counted each one of his strong muscles, so divested of all superfluous fat was his firm flesh.
M. de Merteuil stopped a moment at the winning-post, to speak to M. de Cernay. M. de. Senneterre's horse was cooler, and did not need the quarter of a mile gallop that M. de Merteuil was taking on his way back to the starting-place. So he was riding a very pretty piebald back, curiously marked with black and white. He was about the same size as M. de Merteuil, and had quite as pleasant a face. Under his long overcoat could be seen his purple silk jacket; Beverley awaited him at the start. He approached his rival with a smile on his lips, and held out his hand. They shook hands with apparently the greatest cordiality, which I thought was dissimulation, but in good form, considering the terms on which they were supposed to be.
These two charming young men created a universal and disquieting interest, so real was the peril they were about to face in this thoughtless, heedless way. In fact, no matter what it undertakes, bravery is always admired. An elderly gentleman with white hair, and of very dignified appearance, approached M. de Merteuil, and evidently made some remarks to him about the perils of the race. His observations were received with the most perfect politeness, but had no effect, for, in the presence of that attentive crowd, Messieurs de Merteuil and de Senneterre could not now seem to shrink from danger, whatever it might be.
At last, it was time to go to the starting-place. One of M. de Cernay's friends went with the gentleman-riders to superintend the weighing, and give the signal.