Deulin was nearer, and therefore the first to get to the horse; but Cartoner's greater weight came an instant later, and the horse's head was down.
“Let go! let go!” cried the jockey through his teeth, as Cartoner and Deulin, one on each side, crammed the stirrups over his feet. “Let go! I'll teach him!”
And they obeyed him, for the horse interested them less than the Prince Bukaty, lying half-stunned on the turf. They were both at his side in a moment and saw him open his eyes.
“I am unhurt,” he said. “Help me up. No! sh—h! No, nothing is broken; it is that confounded gout. No, I cannot rise yet! Leave me for a minute. Go, one of you, and tell Wanda that I am unhurt. She is in box No. 18, in the grand-stand.”
He spoke in French, to Deulin more particularly.
“Go and tell her,” said the Frenchman, over his shoulder, in English. “Some busy fool has probably started off by this time to tell her that her father is killed. You will find us in the club-house when you come back.”
So Cartoner went to the grand-stand to seek Wanda there, in the face of all Warsaw, with his promise to avoid her still fresh in his memory. As he approached he saw her in the second tier of boxes. She was dressed in black and white, as she nearly always was. It was only the Russians and the Germans who wore gay colors. He could see the surprise on her face and in Martin's eyes as he approached, and knew that there were a hundred eyes watching him, a hundred ears waiting to catch his words when he spoke.
“Princess,” he said, “the prince has had a slight accident, and has sent me to tell you that he is unhurt, in case you should hear any report to the contrary. He was unable to avoid a fractious horse, and was knocked down. Mr. Deulin is with him, and they have gone to the club pavilion.”
He spoke rather slowly in French, so that all within ear-shot could understand and repeat.
“Shall we go to him?” asked Wanda, rising.