There is, in the cavalières légères of France, a grace that seems born not of discipline alone, but of destiny itself. One is tempted to believe that the sun lingers upon their plumes, that the wind conspires with their cloaks, and that motion itself has chosen them as its emblem. They ride not merely through space, but through the imagination. Is it their charm? Yes—yet charm ennobled by audacity. Is it their panache? Certainly—yet panache lifted to the dignity of poetry. These horsemaids carry upon their shoulders the lightness of youth and the splendour of bravado, and in their bearing there is both a smile and a challenge.