Joan, never having been on a horse before, though born and bred in the South, needed considerable instruction, as did the other equestrian actresses; and Virginia found herself installed as riding-mistress for a good many hours each week. Napoleon did not seem averse to his part in the pageant, though sometimes he shook his head disdainfully when the Black Prince strapped some armor over it, and objected slightly to the trappings which Augustus felt necessary for his successful entry into Rome. Virginia’s saddle, bedecked for the occasion, was found adequate for all the riders; and after many, many attempts, followed by very frank criticisms from the riding-mistress, most of the performers could mount and dismount with something resembling ease. Virginia, knowing well Napoleon’s variety of gaits, did not hope for equestrianism on the part of the riders. If they could only get on safely, sit fairly straight, and get off without catching their feet or clothing, she would rest content; and though Roland and the Black Prince were determined to use their spurs and come out from the forest on the gallop, Virginia, having raised them from the ground after two of these disastrous attempts, urged them with all her might to allow Napoleon to walk, which he was very glad to do. But Joan, it must be admitted, found her last act a trying one. Though she mounted in the recesses of the forest, and could have all the assistance she needed, to ride before the audience, holding her spear aloft in one hand, and driving with the other was well-nigh impossible, especially when she longed to grasp the saddle-horn; and lastly, to dismount safely, without catching on some part of that fearful saddle and irretrievably loosening her armor, was an act she feared and dreaded day and night. “Oh, why did I choose to be Joan!” she cried, as Virginia, at a private rehearsal, raised her from the ground after at least the twentieth attempt to dismount. “I just can’t do it!” “Yes, you can,” encouraged her instructor, who, when occasion demanded, coached the dramatic appearance as well as the equestrian. “You’re beautiful when you hear the voices in the forest, and when you talk with the old priest, you’re thrilling! Only, I do wish Lucile would be more priestly. Of course, she speaks French wonderfully, but she isn’t one bit like a priest. It’s too bad, when you’re so wonderful in that scene.” “Well, you see, she didn’t want to be the priest, anyway. She wanted to be the Black Prince’s sweetheart.” “He didn’t have a sweetheart, did he?” “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem as though he would at seventeen. But she wanted him to, anyway, and say farewell to her in England.” “She does make me sick! Now, Anne, I’ve just one criticism. You’re going to learn to dismount all right; but if you’d only look less scared when you ride toward the Dauphin! You know you ought to look soulful, as though you were seeing a distant vision, but you don’t. You look frightened to death.”