But Brownlock obtained no advantage, not a foot, not an inch; head to head they dashed across half the distance, and now Bessy took the lead, a half, a whole length, two, three, a half-dozen lengths. Those who had bet on Brownlock turned pale, but a hundred times as much was staked on Bessy; the betters exchanged triumphant glances; no one had time to speak; Bessy was already approaching the edge of the bog; her rider was seen to turn in his saddle to note the distance between him and his rival, and now he turned to the left towards the edge of the swamp. "Clever fellow," cried old Count Grieben; "it's wider, Your Highness, it's wider there, but the ground is firmer, and he has plenty of time. Brownlock can't come up with her, hurrah!" cried the enthusiastic old gentleman, waving his hat. "Hurrah, hurrah!" echoed from the fickle crowd, which had just cheered Brownlock; "Bessy wins, Brownlock loses. Hurrah!" Suddenly a deep silence followed, as if a thunderbolt had fallen before the eyes of all. Brandow reached the spot from which, a few seconds before, Count Grieben, rendered secure of the victory by his opponent's delay, had turned aside; and with a powerful bound Brownlock dashed upon the bog, without turning a hair's breadth from the straight course, flying directly over the deepest but narrowest part, with a speed which seemed to increase every moment, while his rider, as if going over the smoothest meadow-land, used neither whip nor spur, and waved his hand to his rival, as he darted by him with such speed that the water dashed into the air in a bright shower of spray. And now he had already reached the edge on the side nearest the stand, and came up the broad straight course which led to the goal--no longer at full speed, but in a long stretching gallop, as if to jeer at his opponent, who after reaching the firm ground, despairing of victory, had stopped; it seemed as if he wished to give the crowd an opportunity to offer their homage. And "Hurrah Brownlock! hurrah Brandow!" they shouted, waving their hats and caps, and the cry increased and swelled to a deafening, thundering roar as the victor now rode past the stands to the goal, in the same long stretching gallop. Everybody stood on tiptoe, the gentlemen cheering, the ladies waving their handkerchiefs--and now all crowded down the broad steps to the level ground, to see the victor and the beautiful horse still nearer, when he, as was customary, returned and again passed before the stands, but this time at a walk. "No privileges are recognized here, strength conquers," said the Prince, who as well as Gotthold was pushed down the steps by the swaying crowd; "the strength of enthusiasm, which is powerful even in the weak. Just see how heroically that delicate lady struggles through the throng--Is it Frau Brandow? I should like to offer her my arm."