and no mistake," murmured Mr.
Willon for the edification of those around them as the saddle-girths
were buckled on, and the Guards' Crack stood the cynosure of every eye
at Iffesheim.

Then, in his capacity as head attendant on the hero, he directed the
exercise bridle to be taken off, and with his own hands adjusted a new
and handsome one, slung across his arm.

"'Tis a'most a pity. 'Tis a'most a pity," thought the worthy, as he put
the curb on the King; "but I shouldn't have been haggravated with that
hinsolent soldiering chap. There, my boy! if you'll win with a painted
quid, I'm a Dutchman."

Forest King champed his bit between his teeth a little; it tasted
bitter; he tossed his head and licked it with his tongue impatiently;
the taste had got down his throat and he did not like its flavor; he
turned his deep, lustrous eyes with a gentle patience on the crowd about
him, as though asking them what was the matter with him. No one moved
his bit; the only person who could have had such authority was busily
giving the last polish to his coat with a fine handkerchief--that
glossy neck which had been so dusted many a time with the cobweb
coronet-broidered handkerchiefs of great ladies--and his instincts,
glorious as they were, were not wise enough to tell him to kick his head
groom down, then and there, with one mortal blow, as his poisoner and
betrayer.

The King chafed under the taste of that "painted quid"; he felt a
nausea as he swallowed, and he turned his handsome head with a strange,
pathetic astonishment in his glance. At that moment a familiar hand
stroked his mane, a familiar foot was put into his stirrup, Bertie threw
himself into saddle; the lightest weight that ever gentleman-rider rode,
despite his six-foot length of limb. The King, at the well-known touch,
the well-loved voice, pricked his delicate ears, quivered in all his
frame with eager excitation, snuffed the air restlessly through his
distended nostrils, and felt every vein under his satin skin thrill
and swell with pleasure; he was all impatience, all power, all longing,
vivid intensity of life. If only that nausea would go! He felt a
restless sickliness stealing on him that his young and gallant strength
had never known since he was foaled. But it was not in the King to yield
to a little; he flung his head up, champing angrily at the bit, then
walked down to the starting-post with his old calm, collected grace; and
Cecil, looking at the glossy