The lady's blue veil brushed against Gotthold's face, and he recognized Alma Sellien. She did not see him, though she stood directly beside him. The delicate, wan face was strangely beautified by the proud smile that hovered on the lips; a joyous light sparkled in the blue eyes, usually so dull and heavy; heeding nothing around her, she looked and waited for the coming of the man she loved, whose uncovered head was just visible above the surging crowd. And now a pair of bay shoulders appeared, vanished, and appeared again, then the beautiful head of a horse, and then the whole figure of the red-coated rider. Those standing in the foremost row, recognizing the Prince, made way, and he, with several other ladies and gentlemen, among them Alma Sellien, were pressed forward, while the ranks closed before Gotthold, who willingly drew back. Brandow, who, hat in hand, was bowing to the right and left, and talking to a few friends that surrounded him, had come very near them, when he saw the Prince, with Alma Sellien leaning on his arm. An amazed smile flitted over his face; he hastily turned Brownlock till he faced the pair, and bowed low over the racer's slender neck. The noble animal stood snorting, champing its bit, and pawing impatiently. Suddenly it sprang aside in wild alarm, and then, as its rider tried to force it back to the spot, reared. "Back!" shouted the Prince to the crowd, who, pressing forward from every direction, had collected in a dense mass. But those farther away, whom no immediate danger threatened, remained motionless. "Back, back!" cried the Prince again; the ladies screamed. "Jump down, Brandow!" exclaimed the gentlemen. But Brandow seemed to have forgotten his universally admired horsemanship. Some said afterwards that he had been stunned from the first moment by the violence with which, as the horse threw back its head in rearing, it struck him on the forehead. As he vainly struggled with the animal in an inconceivably preposterous manner, his eyes were fixed intently upon a man in the crowd, who in some way--all were pressing upon each other in wild confusion--had reached the foremost rank, and now, with upraised arms, sprang directly before, nay under the rearing horse; it was supposed he wanted to pull the furious animal down by the bridle. "Let me pass, for God's sake!" cried Gotthold. He had recognized Hinrich Scheel, although he had only seen the square head, covered with gray curling hair, from which the cap had been knocked in pressing through the crowd; not the brutal face with the squinting green eyes, under whose fiendish power the frightened animal reared higher and higher, pawing the air with its steel-shod hoofs as if it would fain destroy its tormentor. And now one of the hoofs struck the head of the mysterious man, who fell as if a bullet had pierced his brain; but at the same moment the horse, again rearing, fell backwards, burying his rider under him. The crowd parted with shrieks of horror.