Monsieur Maurice Part 5

"And--and I might have gone up to Monsieur Maurice, after all?"

My father looked at me gravely--poured out a second gla.s.s of kirsch--drew his chair to the front of the fire, and said:--

"I don't know about that, Gretchen."

I had felt all along that there was something wrong, and now I was certain of it.

"What do you mean, father?" I said, my heart beating so that I could scarcely speak. "What is the matter?"

"May the devil make broth of my bones, if I know!" said my father, tugging savagely at his moustache.

"But there is something!"

He nodded, grimly.

"Monsieur Maurice, it seems, is not to have so much liberty," he said, after a moment. "He is not to walk in the grounds oftener than twice a week; and then only with a soldier at his heels. And he is not to go beyond half a mile from the Chateau in any direction. And he is to hold no communication whatever with any person, or persons, either in-doors or out-of-doors, except such as are in direct charge of his rooms or his person. And--and heaven knows what other confounded regulations besides! I wish the Baron von Bulow had been in Spitzbergen before he put it into the King's head to send him here at all!"

"But--but he is not to be locked up?" I faltered, almost in a whisper.

"Well, no--not exactly that; but I am to post a sentry in the corridor, outside his door."

"Then the King is afraid that Monsieur Maurice will run away!"

"I don't know--I suppose so," groaned my father.

I sat silent for a moment, and then burst into a flood of tears.

"Poor Monsieur Maurice!" I cried. "He has coughed so all the Winter; and he was longing for the Spring! We were to have gathered primroses in the woods when the warm days came back again--and--and--and I suppose the King doesn't mean that I am not to speak to him any more!"

My sobs choked me, and I could say no more.

My father took me on his knee, and tried to comfort me.

"Don't cry, my little Gretchen," he said tenderly; "don't cry! Tears can help neither the prisoner nor thee."

"But I may go to him all the same, father?" I pleaded.

"By my sword, I don't know," stammered my father. "If it were a breach of orders ... and yet for a baby like thee ... thou'rt no more than a mouse about the room, after all!"

"I have read of a poor prisoner who broke his heart because the gaoler killed a spider he loved," said I, through my tears.

My father's features relaxed into a smile.

"But do you flatter yourself that Monsieur Maurice loves my little Madchen as much as that poor prisoner loved his spider?" he said, taking me by the ear.

"Of course he does--and a hundred thousand times better!" I exclaimed, not without a touch of indignation.

My father laughed outright.

"Thunder and Mars!" said he, "is the case so serious? Then Monsieur Maurice, I suppose, must be allowed sometimes to see his little pet spider."

He took me up himself next morning to the prisoner's room, and then for the first time I found a sentry in occupation of the corridor. He grounded his musket and saluted as we pa.s.sed.

"I bring you a visitor, Monsieur Maurice," said my father.

He was leaning over the fire in a moody att.i.tude when we went in, with his arms on the chimney-piece, but turned at the first sound of my father's voice.

"Colonel Bernhard," he said, with a look of glad surprise, "this is kind, I--I had scarcely dared to hope"....

He said no more, but took me by both hands, and kissed me on the forehead.

"I trust I'm not doing wrong," said my father gruffly. "I hope it's not a breach of orders."

"I am sure it is not," replied Monsieur Maurice, still holding my hands.

"Were your instructions twice as strict, they could not be supposed to apply to this little maiden."

"They are strict enough, Monsieur Maurice," said my father, drily.

A faint flush rose to the prisoner's cheek.

"I know it," he said. "And they are as unnecessary as they are strict. I had given you my parole, Colonel Bernhard."

My father pulled at his moustache, and looked uncomfortable.

"I'm sure you would have kept it, Monsieur Maurice," he said.

Monsieur Maurice bowed.

"I wish it, however, to be distinctly understood," he said, "that I withdrew that parole from the moment when a sentry was stationed at my door."

"Naturally--naturally."

"And, for my papers"....

"I wish to heaven they had said nothing about them!" interrupted my father, impatiently.

"Thanks. 'Tis a petty tyranny; but it cannot be helped. Since, however, you are instructed to seize them, here they are. They contain neither political nor private matter--as you will see."

"I shall see nothing of the kind, Monsieur Maurice," said my father. "I would not read a line of them for a marshal's baton. The King must make a gaoler of me, if it so pleases him; but not a spy. I shall seal up the papers and send them to Berlin."

"And I shall never see my ma.n.u.script again!" said Monsieur Maurice, with a sigh. "Well--it was my first attempt at authorship--perhaps, my last--and there is an end to it!"

My father ground some new and tremendous oath between his teeth.

"I hate to take it, Monsieur Maurice," he said. "'Tis an odious office."

"The office alone is yours, Colonel Bernhard," said the prisoner, with all a Frenchman's grace. "The odium rests with those who impose it on you."

Hereupon they exchanged formal salutations; and my father, having warned me not to be late for our mid-day meal, put the papers in his pocket, and left me to take my daily French lesson.