The Fox of France

As the sound of hooves drew nearer, just around the bend, a tall black purebred horse appeared in their view. Mari-Henri Bell immediately recognized it as the same purebred horse he had seen at the train station just moments ago.

Even while navigating the turn, the horse's speed was not diminished. Once it cleared the bend, it swiftly accelerated, charging toward the obstacle like a black lightning bolt. Without immediate control from the slender rider atop, the horse effortlessly leaped over the towering obstacle, as if it were a mere small mound.

In the blink of an eye, the horse and its rider raced off into the distance.

Mari-Henri Bell watched the black horse and the slender rider vanish into the distance. "What a magnificent horse! And the rider's control, the seamless harmony between rider and steed during the leap, was exceptional! I believe they might be the frontrunner for the victory."

"Him?" the staff member corrected. "No, sir, you're mistaken. That's not a he, but a she. That's a lady."

"A lady?" Mari-Henri Bell exclaimed. "Could she be a foreign princess? Like the ancient Greek Xanthe?"

"A foreign princess?" The staff member raised an eyebrow. "Which foreign realm could boast such a princess?"

Mari-Henri Bell paused briefly, recalling the posture of the rider while mounted—a clear use of male-style saddlery and riding posture. In this era, any European royal princess skilled in horsemanship would utilize feminine equipment and techniques—no royal household would permit the use of masculine gear. They believed it marred the feminine form and was aesthetically displeasing, carrying implications of immodesty. Though notions of chastity were largely a jest among the upper echelons of European nobility, appearances still mattered. Even the ladies of the Moulin Rouge often presented an air of aloof nobility, maintaining an unapproachable allure.

"Ah, this lady, could she be... 'Chris'?" Mari-Henri Bell inquired.

"Chris" was the pseudonym Pauline used when publishing articles, widely known among France's artistic youth. Pauline, a figure frequently in the news, along with a certain brother, received considerable coverage in newspapers like the "Sun Gazette." However, direct reporting on Miss Pauline Bonaparte risked the papers' closure (Napoleon worried his mother might inadvertently come across such news). Thus, when reporting on her, the habit was to refer to "Chris" rather than Pauline. Consequently, not only the artistic youth but even the conservative old guard knew of "Chris."

Speaking of those more aristocratically inclined, their attitudes toward Paris's primary three newspapers were quite interesting. With the exception of a few, they barely read the "Scientific Truth Gazette," while half were willing to glance at the "Businessman Gazette," and nearly everyone indulged in the reputedly lowbrow "Sun Gazette."

"Yes, it's Miss Chris," the staff member confirmed. "Reportedly, she's the only female participant in this Olympics."

"Miss Chris's horsemanship is truly exceptional! Few men could match her skill. The way she smoothly cleared that obstacle was like silk," Mari-Henri Bell praised.

Although Pauline's marriage was not a secret, nearly all of France's gossip tabloids had covered the event. However, the French artistic youth preferred addressing her as "Miss Chris" rather than "Madame Chris" or, worse yet, "Mrs. Bell-Easton."

"Miss Chris has been training here for over a month... her technique is indeed remarkable," the staff member replied.

"Training for over a month? That must cost a fortune," Mari-Henri Bell couldn't help but muse. "Without the earnings from her 'Chris' attire, ordinary folks couldn't afford such training. But the results are astounding; it seems Miss Chris might truly become the first female champion in modern Olympic history."

With these thoughts, Mari-Henri Bell continued walking with the staff member. At that moment, the sound of hooves approached from behind.

"Another wealthy fellow training here? I really shouldn't have joined the equestrian competition; it's entirely the game of the wealthy," Mari-Henri Bell turned his head, looking toward the bend.

A man, astride a gray Arabian horse, struggled to navigate the turn and slowly approached the obstacle. However, when they reached it, the horse suddenly halted.

The man on horseback, caught off guard, somersaulted off the horse, landing on the track with a grunt, followed by a pig-like squeal.

Instantly, several people emerged from a nearby small building, one of them carrying a rolled-up stretcher. Obviously, they were the ones designated for such situations.

"Do you need us to help?" Mari-Henri Bell asked. Having been in the cavalry before, he'd seen unlucky individuals fall off their mounts during training. So, he genuinely could assist rather than be a hindrance.

"No, it's unnecessary; we have professionals. If you're not a qualified doctor and you intervene, it could create complications," the staff member advised.

Mari-Henri Bell acknowledged the wisdom in the advice, especially as the others had already rushed in. He refrained from advancing further and remarked to the staff member beside him, "You know, I ought to thank that gentleman properly."

"Why? Do you know him?" the staff member inquired.

"No, of course, I don't know him. Where would I have the chance to meet such a wealthy figure? But his actions just now greatly helped me regain the confidence necessary for the competition."