But no horse, so far as he knew, could give such an exhibition alone! It had taken years of hard work to achieve this perfection!

The music grew louder, flowing around him and into the hall. The piping notes in the background were barely audible but he heard them, as she did. They became more distinct, more commanding, and her movements changed quickly.

She slowed her forward movement still more without the slightest change in gait or lofty carriage. Suddenly she was trotting in place, her hoofs faultless in their timing, and dancing like the “god-horse” the ringmaster had announced. Truly, she did not look earthbound!

The captain watched her perform the piaffe with critical eyes, and saw no mistakes. In all the years they had worked together, she had never been as faultless as now.

Finally the music stopped and she was released from the piaffe. She made a slow circuit of the ring, then stopped to stand magnificently in the spotlight as if awaiting the acclaim she knew she deserved.

With great effort, the captain controlled his anger at the crowd’s polite but restrained applause. In every other country they had played she had received a tumultuous ovation at this moment. His disappointment was not for himself but for her. He knew she missed the cheering. Always, she reacted to a stirring wave of applause by working better.

As if in a great cathedral, the crowd waited without word or sound for the mare to go into her next display. The captain resented the coldness of the elegantly dressed audience. Were the Swedes unimaginative as well as dull and unappreciative? Were their reactions based on what they knew was expected of them as a nation of reserved and practical people?

He was angry inside and he sought to quell the mounting hot temperament of his own blood. Yet a freezing coldness was there, too, controlled but with an ever-creeping deadliness. He concealed it well. Nothing showed in his face. He looked calm and dispassionate, his eyes a steady, black stare.

He watched his mare as she quickly responded to the clash of cymbals by breaking into a canter. The cadence of her hoofs picked up as if she had been eagerly awaiting the change of pace. And yet her quickening strides were more floating than driving, so she appeared no more earthbound than she had at a trot.

Faster and faster she circled the ring until she was in a gallop. Suddenly she spun on her hind legs, pirouetting in place and spinning in a small circle as if she sought to drive a hole into the tanbark with her hoofs.

The music rose in a great crescendo and a moment later she lifted her forelegs in the air at an acute angle while balancing herself on her hind legs. She held this pose for several seconds before coming down.

The captain waited for the crowd to applaud her levade, and when the rippling of applause finally came, he smiled. She was reaching them and she had much more to give.

To the roll of the drums, she rose again in the levade and finished with four jumps on her hind legs that carried her across the ring in the courbette. Only then did she bring down her forelegs and trot slowly around the ring, still swaying to the music, forever dancing.

His heart went out to her, for he knew how much she enjoyed her dancing. It was the woman in her, he thought. No stallion, no gelding he had ever trained could equal her lightness of foot, her natural rhythm.

He no longer cared if the crowd applauded or not. It made little difference now. He was celebrating with her these difficult movements brought to perfection by their many years of work together. Her own will had merged with his. She was indeed one with him in all respects.

Now, nearing the end of her performance, she was in the center of the ring. The music faded and only the shrill notes of the flute were heard.