"The carriage waits, Miladi," said her servant.
"I shall not drive to-day," said Lady Hilda. "Tell them to saddle Saïd."
It was a brilliant day; all the bells were pealing; and the sunshine and the soft wind streaming in. She thought a ten-mile stretch across the open country might do her good; at any rate, it would be better than sitting at home, or pacing slowly in the procession of the Corso di Gala, which was only a shade less stupid than the pelting Corso.
Saïd was a swift, nervous, impetuous horse; the only sort of horse she cared to ride; and he soon bore her beyond the gates, leaving the carriages of her friends to crush each other in the twisting streets, and vie in state liveries and plumes and ribbons and powdered servants, and amuse the good-natured, kindly, orderly crowds of Floralia, clustered on the steps of churches and under the walls of palaces.
She rode against the wind, as straight as the state of the roads would permit her, as wonderful a sight to the astonished country people as though she had been S. Margarita on
