One other thing interested him enormously. Directly he heard the beat of horses’ hoofs he stepped to the window and watched the rider—whether it was a yard boy, some officer or other, or the Princess (with whom he had not exchanged a word since that day), with attentive eyes. He observed that the rider did not actually sit down as in a chair, but to a certain extent might be said to stand in the stirrups; that he used his knees and not his back; that he did not allow himself to be passively shaken about like a sack of potatoes by the movement of the horse, but actively adapted himself to it. Practically the process was probably very simple, but for the technical engineer who was watching the mechanism it appeared to be enormously complicated, especially when the horse began to rear, prance, or dance about in thoroughbred shyness. Prokop studied all this for hours, sheltered behind the window curtains; and one fine morning he ordered Paul to have Premier saddled. Mr. Paul became extremely disconcerted. He explained that Premier was a high-spirited and restless animal which had never been fully broken in, but Prokop merely repeated the order. His riding things were ready in the cupboard; he put them on with a faint feeling of vanity and went downstairs. Premier was already there, prancing about and dragging a groom round with him. Prokop endeavoured to appease the animal by stroking his nostrils, as he had seen other people do. The creature grew a little more calm, though his feet still dug into the sand. Prokop approached his side in a calculating manner, and was just raising his foot to the stirrup when Premier
