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Scarce
quicker
could
be
the
transformation
in
a
pantomime
.
The
casting
off
the
serapé
reveals
a
form
that
Hebe
might
have
envied
;
the
removal
of
the
hat
,
a
head
that
would
have
inspired
the
chisel
of
Canova
!
A
splendid
picture
is
exhibited
in
that
solitary
glade
;
worthy
of
being
framed
,
by
its
bordering
of
spinous
trees
,
whose
hirsute
arms
seem
stretched
out
to
protect
it
.
A
horse
of
symmetrical
shape
,
half
backed
upon
his
haunches
,
with
nostrils
spread
to
the
sky
,
and
tail
sweeping
the
ground
;
on
his
back
one
whose
aspect
and
attitude
suggest
a
commingling
of
grand
,
though
somewhat
incongruous
ideas
,
uniting
to
form
a
picture
,
statuesque
as
beautiful
.
The
pose
of
the
rider
is
perfect
.
Half
sitting
in
the
saddle
,
half
standing
upon
the
stirrup
,
every
undulation
of
her
form
is
displayed
--
the
limbs
just
enough
relaxed
to
show
that
she
is
a
woman
.
Notwithstanding
what
she
has
said
,
on
her
face
there
is
no
fear
--
at
least
no
sign
to
betray
it
.
There
is
no
quivering
lip
--
no
blanching
of
the
cheeks
.
The
expression
is
altogether
different
.
It
is
a
look
of
love
--
couched
under
a
proud
confidence
,
such
as
that
with
which
the
she-eagle
awaits
the
wooing
of
her
mate
.
You
may
deem
the
picture
overdrawn
--
perhaps
pronounce
it
unfeminine
.
And
yet
it
is
a
copy
from
real
life
--
true
as
I
can
remember
it
;
and
more
than
once
had
I
the
opportunity
to
fix
it
in
my
memory
.
The
attitude
is
altered
,
and
with
the
suddenness
of
a
coup
d'éclair
;
the
change
being
caused
by
recognition
of
the
horseman
who
comes
galloping
into
the
glade
.
The
shine
of
the
gold-laced
vestments
had
misled
her
.
They
are
worn
not
by
Maurice
Gerald
,
but
by
Miguel
Diaz
!
Bright
looks
become
black
.
From
her
firm
seat
in
the
saddle
she
subsides
into
an
attitude
of
listlessness
--
despairing
rather
than
indifferent
;
and
the
sound
that
escapes
her
lips
,
as
for
an
instant
they
part
over
her
pearl-like
teeth
,
is
less
a
sigh
than
an
exclamation
of
chagrin
.
