"Yes, a fearful little brute, hairy as a mat, you can see. She brought him from the marshes of the Volga. He's ugly, vicious and obstinate. She's absolutely the only person who can ride him. He tries to bite the groom's face off, but she can do what she likes with him."
"Sh!" said Melusine. "Look!"
The Hussars were advancing at full trot to take their places behind the Dragoons, who were drawn up behind the infantry.
With their backs to the stand and ourselves, the King of Würtemberg and General von Eichhorn faced the Grand Duke Frederick-Augustus and Duke Joachim, who, at the other end of the parade-ground, presented the troops marching past. I have no bias in favour of the Prussian goose-step, but I assure you that though we may mock at it in France, it is remarkably appropriate to German military atmosphere.
The 182nd marched past in line of columns of companies. You could have heard a pin drop. The six field artillery batteries followed at a gallop, the copper bobs on their black helmets sparkling in the sun. Then, by squads and keeping faultless alignment, the Detmold Dragoons advanced, followed at a distance of two hundred yards or so by the Lautenburg Hussars.
The Grand Duchess was between the two regiments. Little Hagen, stiller than ever, looked in the seventh heaven. A feeling of mute hatred of the man rose within me.
The march past was over. Whilst the Grand Duke Frederick-Augustus and Duke Joachim came over to join the King of Würtemberg and General von Eichhorn in front of the stand, the two calvary regiments massed for the final charge at the place the princes had just left.
"Look!" said Marçais to me. "You are going to see the Cossack style."
On the right was the blue mass, on the left the red, smaller. Twenty paces in front of them two riders, almost side by side. Colonel von Becker's great bay snorted. Taras-Bulba, quivering with suppressed excitement, did not move.
Leaning forward, Melusine looked on, her gaze at once roving and rapt.