So the coronation ceremonies were to take place in the May following the Prince’s birthday, and the Regent had arranged that the marriage should also be celebrated at that time.  Of course, the Boy had acquiesced.  He saw no reason to put it off any longer.  It was always best to swallow your bitterest pill first, he thought, and get the worst over and the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible.

Until that eventful time, the Prince was free to go where he pleased, and to do whatever he wished.  He had insisted upon this liberty, and the Regent, finding him in all other respects so amenable to his leading, gladly made the concession.  This left him a year—­that is, nearly a year, for it was June now—­of care-free bachelorhood; a year for one, who was yet only a dreamy boy, to acquire the proper spirit for a happy bridegroom; a year of Father Paul!

He rode along aimlessly for a short distance, scarcely guiding his horse, and only responding to the greetings of acquaintances he chanced to meet with absent-minded, though still irreproachable, courtesy.  He was hardly thinking at all, now—­at least consciously.  He was simply glad to be alive, as Youth is glad—­in spite of any possible, or impossible, environment.

Suddenly his eyes fell upon a feminine rider some paces in advance, who seemed to attract much attention, of which she was—­apparently —­delightfully unconscious.  Paul marked the faultless proportions of her horse.

“What a magnificent animal!” he thought.  Then, under his breath, he added, “and what a stunning rider!”

She was only a girl—­about eighteen or nineteen, he should judge by her figure and the girlish poise of her small head—­but she certainly knew how to ride.  She sat her horse as though a part of him, and controlled his every motion as she would her own.

“Just that way might she manage a man,” Paul thought, and then laughed aloud at the absurdity of the thought.  For he had never seen the girl before.

Paul admired a good horsewoman—­they are so pitifully few.  And he followed her, at a safe distance, with an interest unaccountable, even to him.  Finally she drew rein before one of the houses facing the Row, dismounted, and throwing the train of her habit gracefully over her arm, walked to the door with a brisk step.  Paul instantly likened her to a bird, so lightly tripping over the walk that her feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground.  She was a wee thing—­certainly not more than five foot tall—­and petite, almost to an extreme.  The Boy had expressed a preference, only a few days before, for tall, magnificent women.  Now he suddenly discovered that the woman for a man to love should by all means be short and small.  He wondered why it had never occurred to him in that light before, and thought of Jacques’ question about Rosalind, “What stature is she of?” and Orlando’s reply, “As high as my heart!”

The girl who had aroused this train of thought had reached the big stone steps by this time, and suddenly turning to look over her shoulder, just as he passed the gate, met his gaze squarely.  Gad! what eyes those were!—­full of mystery and magnetism, and—­possibilities!