"Oh, that is true! Not every man would dare that," added Hania.
"It is thy wish to say," added I, "that not every horse could clear the gate, for more such men could be found."
Hania gazed long at me.
"I would not advise you to try," said she; then she turned toward Selim and her look expressed admiration, for really this daring deed of the Tartar was one of those risks which always please women. One should have seen him at that moment, his fine, dark hair falling on his forehead, his cheeks flushed from the swift movement, his gleaming eyes, from which shone delight and gladness. As he stood there near Hania, looking her in the eyes with curiosity, no artist could have imagined a more beautiful couple.
But I was touched in the highest degree by her words. It seemed to me that that, "I would not advise thee to try," had been spoken in a voice in which a tone of irony was trembling. I looked with an inquiring glance at my father, who had examined Selim's horse a moment before. I knew his parental ambition; I knew that he was jealous the moment that any one surpassed me in anything, and this had angered him toward Selim for a long time. I concluded, therefore, that he would not oppose in case I wished to show that I was not a worse horseman than Selim.
"That horse gallops well, father," said I.
"Yes, and that Satan sits well," muttered he. "Couldst thou do the same?"
"Hania doubts," answered I, with a certain bitterness. "May I try?"
My father hesitated, looked at the gate, at the horse, at me, and said,—
"Give peace."