"Sit down," said Van Dieman, laughing. "Look! Here come the cavalry!"
In two long double ranks, ten thousand horsemen were galloping diagonally across the plain—Hussars in pale robin's-egg blue and black and scarlet, Chasseurs-à-cheval in light blue and silver tunics, Dragoons armed with long lances from which fluttered a forest of red-and-white pennons, Cuirassiers cased in steel helmets and corselets—all coming at a gallop, sweeping on with the earth shaking under the thunder of forty thousand horses' hoofs, faster, faster, while in the excitement the vast throng of spectators leaped up on the benches to see.
There was a rumble, a rolling shock, a blast from a hundred trumpets. "Halt!"
Then, with the sound of the rushing of an ocean, ten thousand swords swept from their steel scabbards, and a thundering cheer shook the very sky: "Vive la Républic!"
That evening we dined together at the Hôtel—Alida, Dulcima, Van Dieman, and I.
Alida wore a new ring set with a brilliant that matched her shining, happy eyes. I hoped Van Dieman might appear foolish and ill at ease, but he did not.
"There is," said he, "a certain rare brand of champagne in the secret cellars of this famous café. It is pink as a rose in colour, and drier than a British cigar. It is the only wine, except the Czar's Tokay, fit to drink to the happiness of the only perfect woman in the world."
"And her equally perfect sister, father and fiancé," said I. "So pray order this wonderful wine, Van, and let me note the brand; for I very much fear that we shall need another bottle at no distant date."
"Why?" asked Dulcima, colouring to her hair.