"Keep your place and take what measures you please, but pray let me choose my own position. That need not interfere with you in the least."
And Kemeny, with a few other gentlemen, remained at table.
Wenzinger had scarcely made the necessary preparations when word was brought to the Prince that the army was in battle array. Then Kemeny stood up with imperturbable sangfroid and buckled on his sword, but refused to wear armour.
"Why should I?" cried he. "Do you suppose that the heart beats more courageously behind a coat of mail?"
So they brought him his most stately charger, whose restive head two stalwart grooms could only hold with difficulty. The coal-black, fiery-eyed steed plunged and reared; its nostrils snorted steam; white frothy flakes fell from its mouth all over its breast; its long waving tail reached almost to the ground.
Kemeny swung himself into the saddle, drew his sword, and galloped to the front. Every one was amazed at his skilful horsemanship; he seemed to have been grafted on to his stallion, so perfectly did all his movements correspond with its gambols. On reaching the front, the stately charger fell into a mincing pace, sharply striking the ground behind it with its prancing hoofs, and nodding its head as if saluting the host, which broke with one accord into a loud shout of "Eljen!" At the same instant the Prince's horse stumbled and plunged violently forward on both knees at once. The silver bit in its mouth snapped in two, and it was only his extraordinary skill and dexterity which saved the Prince from flying headlong.
His suite came hastening to his side.
"That is a bad omen, your Highness!" stammered Alexius Bethlen. "Your Highness should mount another horse."
"'Tis not a bad omen," replied Kemeny, "for my horse has not thrown me."
"Nevertheless, your Highness, it would be well to change your mount. That horse is frightened, and will do nothing but rear."