could ride him for her at seven stone—and ride him as she would? Nobody.
All Bellevue was en route for the scene of the famous Bellevue Point-to-Point races, consisting of team-races for horses, another for ponies, a handicap, and an open race for quadrupeds of any size and bipeds of any weight.
Then came the Ladies' Point-to-Point, over two and a half kilometres of fairly good course and a few jumps.
The ordinary course was a stiff one, and so arranged that a really bold and resolute rider could shorten the distance on the average man by taking wadis, and the other "places" that discretion would ride round.
The Ladies' Course included nothing that gave the stout heart and strong seat a marked advantage. So much the worse for Madame Paës, who was out, not so much to win a race and glory, as to win health and happiness, possibly life itself, for her children and husband.
A large crowd, on horseback for the most part, surrounded the tents (where the officers of the Chasseurs d'Afrique were "At Home"), the starting-point, and neighbouring winning-post.
Madame Paës lay in a long chair, with closed eyes—while the men's four races were run—limp, relaxed, and weary to death.
Oh, for a cushion to put under her weak and aching back!—and oh, for a petit verre of eau de vie to give her heart and strength! But her idolized Guillaume (a prig of the first water and petty domestic tyrant) did not "approve" of alcohol for ladies. There were so many things of which Guillaume did not "approve" for other people, though he appeared to approve of most things for Guillaume.
At last! The bell for the Ladies' Point-to-Point, the most popular and famous race in the Colony.
Madame Paës mounted Belzébuth and walked him to the starting-point.
Nine competitors.
Colonel Lebrun's wife on the pride of the Chasseurs (but a heavy, bumping, mouth-sawing rider who would spoil any horse's chance).
Madame Maxin on a characterless, unreliable racer.
Little Angélique Dandin, on her brother's one and only pony.
Madame Malherbe, cool, quiet, neat, and businesslike, on a light and dainty black mare with slender legs but powerful quarters.
Major Parme's wife on the best horse that her money could buy—but a woman who thought far more of hat, habit, and figure than of seat and hands.
Madame Deville, riding (astride) her husband's charger and intending to win if spur and quirt would do it.
Colonel de Longueville's wife, a fine horse-woman, handsome, smart, and clever, on the pick of her husband's racing-stable. And a couple of quidnuncs.
A bad field to beat.
Betting was on Madame Maxin if her horse "behaved." If he didn't, Madame de Longueville must win in a common canter.
Strangers liked the look of Madame Malherbe, but local wisdom knew her mare couldn't live with the other two.
General Blanc, starter, drew the attention of the ladies to a pair of red flags half a kilometre away, a pair of blue ones to the right of these and half a kilometre from them, another pair of red to the right of the "field," and a pair of white, at present behind their backs and some three furlongs distant.
"You must pass between the red flags, then between the blue, then the red, and lastly between the white, and finish here," said he. "There is nothing serious in the way of ditch or wall. Pick your own route—and any competitor not passing between the flags is, of course, disqualified."
A silly question from Madame Lebrun—politely answered.
All ready? ... The flag falls.
Madame Paës thanked Heaven they were away at last.
A hundred yards from the starting-point is a brush-wood jump which must be taken—or a large patch of dense cactus-jungle skirted to the left or right.
Should she try and take it first of all?
She hated jumping in company. Yes. A flick told Belzébuth he might stretch himself for a bit, and he cleared the jump ten lengths ahead of the next horse.
"Nom de Dieu! It's an 'outsider's year,'" said General Blanc. "Bar accidents, that's the winner. Who is she?"
Madame Lebrun's horse—with a round dozen stone hanging on his mouth—refused; the lady and the animal parted company, and the subsequent proceedings interested them no more.
Madame Parme elected to skirt the jungle, and was out of the race from that moment.
A quidnunc took alarm at the pace and pulled with all her strength.
The virtueless and evil-reputed racer drew level with Belzébuth, Madame Maxin spurring, and Madame de Longueville passed both.
Madame Paës was holding Belzébuth in from the moment he had cleared the first jump.
Madame Deville began flogging, like a jockey, in the first quarter-mile of the race, and passed Madame de Longueville with a spurt. Shortly after she took fifth place and kept it....
Between the first flags passed Madame de Longueville with the wicked racer at her girth and Belzébuth at her tail, Madame Malherbe a dozen lengths behind, and Madame Deville thirty.
Angelique Dandin came later in the day, having lost her way. Neither quidnunc continued her wild career to this point....
Gradually the distance between the leading three and the following two lengthened—and, for a kilometre, Madame Paës, Madame de Longueville, and Madame Maxin ran neck and neck.
Suddenly the bad-charactered racer took a line of his own, missed the next flags by a few metres, and bolted into the desert. At the second flags, Madame de Longueville led, Belzébuth consenting—or, rather, being made to consent; Madame Malherbe, creeping up, passed the flags three lengths behind, and Angelique Dandin, catching Madame Deville, led her through, a score lengths in rear....
Madame Paës was filled with hope.
Should she let Belzébuth out yet? No, not till the last flags—if she could live so long—if her heart would beat instead of stabbing—if her brain would not reel so—if the blue mist would clear from her eyes.
(Those who had climbed to points of vantage shouted that Madame de Longueville would win in a walk—had led from the start—was going strong—except for that dark horse which seemed to manage to hang on....)
A fairish jump ahead—should she pass Madame de Longueville? No, let her take it first, and let Belzébuth save himself for the three-furlong run home.
At the last flags Madame de Longueville led by twenty lengths, Madame Paës second, Madame Malherbe third, Angelique Dandin a neck behind, and Madame Deville, still flogging, a safe fifth.
And then Madame Paës gave Belzébuth a sharp flick, raised her bridle hand, and called to him.
The roar of applause and welcome to Madame de Longueville died down with curious suddenness as Belzébuth sprang forward, passed Madame de Longueville's lathered grey Arab as though he were standing, forged rapidly and steadily ahead, and, finishing in a quiet canter, won the race by a good furlong. Madame Paës reeled in the saddle and fell heavily into the arms of Colonel Merlonorot, who came forward to help her to dismount.
"Splendid! Splendid!" said he. "Mon Dieu! If I hadn't just bought my wife a horse, I'd ask if that pony of yours is for sale. You should run him at Longchamps!"
... "If I hadn't just bought my wife a horse" ... what was he saying? "If I hadn't just bought my wife a horse, I'd ask if that pony of yours is for sale." ...
Then it was all for nothing—and money wasted!
Madame Paës fainted quietly and privately in a comfortable chair at the back of the empty reception-tent