My aunt’s back obscured the view a little; but raising myself on tiptoe, I swept the whole field with my eyes, and saw the jockeys drawing near the curve of the other side.  Seen from this distance, they looked like bright-colored beetles flying through the air; the motion appeared slow, and the throwing out of the horses’ fore and hind legs almost mechanical.  But in spite of the apparent slowness, they cleared the ground very swiftly.

The order of the riders was changed again.  The white was still leading, followed by the red; but our Kuba was third now.  The others remained behind, and the distance between them grew wider every moment.  Naughty Boy was evidently not the worst among them.  For a moment I lost sight of him, and presently saw him again as they passed us.  The red was close upon the white, and Kuba gaining ground.  I now observed for the first time that the white would have no chance, as the horse’s flanks shone with moisture, as if water had been poured over him.  It was clear the race would lie between the red and orange and black.  At the worst, Naughty Boy would be second, and the defeat not so complete.  What inspired me with confidence was the horse’s pace; he threw out his legs so evenly, as if he performed a daily task.  The spectators’ excitement became greater every moment.

“Has Naughty Boy lost?” asked Aniela, in a low, excited voice, seeing the order in which the horses came past the stand.

“No, dear; they have still another round,” I replied, pressing her hand slightly.  She did not withdraw her hand; it is true that her whole attention was absorbed in the race.  When the horses came to the other side, Kuba was second, the white was so exhausted that he had to fall back, and the three following riders came up to him.  It was now a race between the two, and there were only five or six lengths between them.  Suddenly a loud murmur from the stand told us that something unusual had happened; Kuba was coming up to his adversary.  The murmurs on the stand grew into a tumult.  Aniela was so carried away by excitement that she squeezed my hand nervously, and asked every moment, “What are they doing now?” The riders were on the left side of the field.  The red, by the help of his whip, had gained a little; but presently Naughty Boy almost touched him with his nose.  In this furious pace they came both on a line with the stand, where we lost sight of them again.  The struggle would be over now in a few seconds.  On the stand there was a momentary silence, which suddenly changed into loud, prolonged cheering.  Many people were running along the lines which hide the road, and at this moment we saw the red nostrils; the horse’s head, stretched out like a cord, orange and black, was carried along as if by a hurricane.  The bell rang on the grand stand,—­the victory was ours.

The red had lost by a dozen lengths.

I must say for my aunt that she never lost her self-possession.  Nobody but me noticed the few drops of perspiration which stood on her forehead; she fanned with her pocket-handkerchief.  Aniela was excited, amused, and happy.  We both congratulated our aunt; even Panna Zawilowska said a few French sentences, stiff and proper, as if taken from a copy-book.  Presently a crowd of acquaintances thronged around our carriage, and my aunt’s triumph was complete.