Arms and the Woman Part 46

"It cannot be anything serious," said I to Pembroke, who wore a worried frown.

Perhaps the King had heard of the duel. I was in a mood to care but little what the King had heard, or what he was going to do. The thing uppermost in my mind was that Gretchen had begged my life of the Prince--and then run away!

At the palace the Chancellor met me in the anteroom. His face was grave almost to gloominess.

"Have you ever seen a King angry?" he asked. "Ah, it is not a pleasant sight, on my word; least of all, to the one who has caused a King's anger."

"You alarm me," I said. "Have I done aught to bring the anger of the King upon my head?"

"Ah, but you have! The King is like a bear in his den. He walks back and forth, waving his hands, pulling his mustache and muttering dire threats."

"Might I not take to my legs?" I asked. After all, I cared more than I thought I should in regard to what the King might do to me.

The Chancellor gave my back a sounding thump, and roared with laughter.

"Cheerful, my son; be cheerful! You are a favorite already."

"You bewilder me."

"You have powerful friends; and if the King is angry you need have no fear."

"I should like to know--" I began.

"Ah!" interrupted the Chancellor, "the audience is ended; it is our turn. The Austrian Amba.s.sador," he whispered as a gray-haired man pa.s.sed us, bowing. There was an exchange of courtesies, and once more I stood before the King.

"I believe you have kept me waiting," said the King, "as Louis once said." He gazed at me from under knotted eyebrows. "I wish,"

petulantly, "that you had remained in your own country."

"So do I, Your Majesty," I replied honestly. The Chancellor shook with laughter, and the King glared at him furiously.

"What is your name?" asked the King in a milder tone. He was holding a missive in his hand.

"John Winthrop," I answered. I was wondering what it was all about.

"Were you born in America?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Is your family an honored one in your country?"

"It is," I answered proudly.

"Then, why in heaven's name do you scribble?" cried the King.

"In my country one may have an honored name and still be compelled to earn a competence."

"Ah, yes! After all, scribbling is better than owning a shop." This is the usual argument of Kings. "Can you trace your pedigree very far back?" the King proceeded.

"My ancestors came over in the Mayflower," said I.

"The Mayflower?" said the King, puzzled.

"All the Americans," explained the Chancellor, "went over in the Mayflower. The ark and the Mayflower were the largest ships ever put to sea, Your Majesty." To hide his smile, the Chancellor pa.s.sed over to the window and began drawing pictures on the frosted panes.

Continued the King: "If you loved one of my countrywomen, would you be willing to sacrifice your own country? I mean, would you be willing to adopt mine, to become a naturalized citizen, to uphold its laws, to obey the will of its sovereign, and to take up arms in its defense?"

My knees began to knock together. "I should be willing," I answered, "if I should never be called upon to bear arms against the country in which I was born."

"I should never ask you to do that," replied the King.

"No; His Majesty has too wholesome a respect for America," the Chancellor interpolated.

"Prince," said the King, "go and finish your window panes."

The Chancellor meekly obeyed.

"This is your answer?" said the King to me.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then marry the Princess Elizabeth," he said, tossing the missive to me.

"Yes, marry her," said the irrepressible Chancellor; "and some day the King will put a medal on your breast and make you a baron of the realm.

Your Majesty, come and help me with this last pane."

The Princess Elizabeth? I glanced at the writing on the envelope. It was Gretchen's. "And, Your Majesty," I read, "it is true that they love each other. Permit them to be happy. I ask your forgiveness for all the trouble I have caused you. I promise that from now on I shall be the most obedient subject in all your kingdom. Hildegarde." I dropped the letter on the table.

"Your Majesty," I began nervously, "there is some mistake. I do not love Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth."

The King and his Chancellor whirled around. The decorations on the panes remained unfinished. The King regarded me with true anger, and the Chancellor with dismay.

"I love the Princess Hildegarde," I went on in a hollow voice.

"Is this a jest?" demanded the King.

"No; on my honor." For once I forgot court etiquette, and left off "Your Majesty."

"Let me see the letter," said the Chancellor, with a pacific purpose.

"There is some misunderstanding here." He read the letter and replaced it on the table--and went back to his window.

"Well?" cried the King, impatiently.

"I forgot, Your Majesty," said the Chancellor.

"Forgot what?"

"The letter was written by a woman. I remember when I was a boy," went on the Chancellor tranquilly, "I used to take great pleasure in drawing pictures on frosted window panes. Women always disturbed me."