The Puppet Crown Part 36

"Have you forgotten what you said to me?"

"I dare say I was impertinent," vaguely.

"Ah, you have forgotten, then!"

In all his life he never felt so ill at ease. To what did she refer?

That he would be proud to be her friend? That if the princess was as beautiful as the maid he could pa.s.s judgment?

"Yes, you have forgotten. Do you not remember that you offered to be my friend?" She read him through and through, his embarra.s.sment, the tell-tale color in his cheeks. She laughed, and there was nothing but youth in the laughter. "Certainly you are afraid of me."

"I confess I am," he said. "I can not remember all I said to you."

Suddenly she, too, remembered something, and it caused the red of the rose to ripple from her throat to her eyes. "Poor dog! Not that they hated him, but because I love him!" Tears started to her eyes. "See, Monsieur Carewe; princesses are human, they weep and they love. Poor dog! My playmate and my friend. But for you they might have killed him.

Tell me how it happened." She knew, but she wanted to hear the story from his own lips.

His narrative was rather disjointed, and he slipped in von Mitter as many times as possible, thinking to do that individual a good turn.

Perhaps she noticed it, for at intervals she smiled. During the telling he took out his handkerchief, wiped the dog's head with it, and wound it tightly about the injured leg. The dog knew; he wagged his tail.

How handsome and brave, she thought, as she observed the face in profile. Not a day had pa.s.sed during the fortnight gone that she had not conjured up some feature of that intelligent countenance; sometimes it had been the eyes, sometimes the chin and mouth, sometimes the shapely head. It was wrong; but this little sin was so sweet. She had never expected to see him again. He had come and gone, and she had thought that the beginning and the end. Ah, if only she were not a princess! If only some hand would sweep aside those insurmountable barriers called birth and policy! To be free, to be the mistress of one's heart, one's dreams, one's desires!

"And you did it all alone," she said, softly; "all alone."

"O, I had the advantage; I was not expected. It was all over before they knew what had happened."

"And you had the courage to take a poor dog's part? Did you know whose dog it was?"

"Yes, your Highness, I recognized him."

A secret gladness stole into her heart, and to cover the flame which again rose to her cheeks, she bent and smoothed the dog's head. This gave Maurice an opportunity to look at her. What a beautiful being she was! He was actually sitting beside her, breathing the same air, listening to her voice. She exhaled a delicate perfume such as incorporates itself in persons of high degree and becomes a natural emanation, an incense vague and indescribable. He felt that he was gazing on the culmination of youth, beauty, and elegance... Yes, Fitzgerald was right. To beggar one's self for love; honor and life, and all to the winds if only love remained.

Presently she straightened, and he centered his gaze on the back of the groom.

"Monsieur, place your hat upon your head," smiling. "We have entered the Stra.s.se, and I should not like to embarra.s.s you with the attention of the citizens."

He put on his hat. The impulse came to tell her all that he knew in regard to the kingdom's affairs; but his voice refused its offices.

Besides, it was too late; the carriage was rolling into the Platz, and in a moment more it drew up before the terrace of the Continental Hotel.

Maurice stepped out and bared his head.

"This evening, Monsieur, at nine, I shall expect to see you at the archbishop's reception to the corps diplomatique." A hand was extended toward him. He did not know what to do about it. "I am offering you my hand to kiss, Monsieur Carewe; it is a privilege which I do not extend to all."

As he touched it to his lips, he was sure that a thousand pairs of eyes were centered on him. The truth is, there were less than one hundred.

It was the first time in many months that the Crown Princess had stopped before the Continental Hotel. To the guests it was an event; and some even went as far as to whisper that the handsome young man was Prince Frederick, incognito.

"G.o.d save your Royal Highness," said Maurice, at loss for other words.

He released her hand and stepped back.

"Until this evening, then, Monsieur;" and the royal barouche rolled away.

"Who loves me, loves my dog," said Maurice, as he sped to his room.

CHAPTER XV. IN WHICH FORTUNE BECOMES CARELESS AND PRODIGAL

On the night prior to the arrival of Maurice in Bleiberg, there happened various things of moment.

At midnight the chancellor left the palace, after having witnessed from a window the meeting of the cuira.s.siers and the students, and sought his bed; but his sleep was burdened with troubled dreams. The clouds, lowering over his administration, thickened and darkened. How many times had he contemplated resigning his office, only to put aside the thought and toil on?

Defeat in the end was to be expected, but still there was ever that star of hope, a possible turn in affairs which would carry him on to victory.

Victory is all the sweeter when it seems impossible. Prince Frederick had disappeared, no one knew where, the peasant girl theory could no longer be harbored, and the wedding was but three days hence. The Englishman had not stepped above the horizon, and the telegrams to the four ends of the world returned unanswered. Thus, the chancellor stood alone; the two main props were gone from under. As he tossed on his pillows he pondered over the apparent reticence and indifference of the archbishop.

All was still in the vicinity of the palaces. Sentinels paced noiselessly within the enclosures. In the royal bedchamber the king was resting quietly, and near by, on a lounge, the state physician dozed.

The Captain of the household troop of cuira.s.siers nodded in the ante-room.

Only the archbishop remained awake. He sat in his chamber and wrote. Now and then he would moisten his lips with watered wine. Sometimes he held the pen in midair, and peered into the shapeless shadows cast by the tapers, his broad forehead shining and deep furrows between his eyes.

On, on he wrote. Perhaps the archbishop was composing additional pages to his memoirs, for occasionally his thin lips relaxed into an impenetrable smile.

There was little quiet in the lower town, especially in the locality of the university. Old Stuler's was filled with smoke, students and tumult.

Ill feeling ran high. There were many damaged heads, for the cuira.s.siers had not been n.i.g.g.ard with their sabers.

A student walked backward and forward on the stage, waving wildly with his hands to command attention. It was some time before he succeeded.

"Fellow-students, brothers of freedom and comrades," he began. "All this must come to an end, and that at once. Our personal liberty is endangered. Our rights are being trodden under foot. Our ancient privileges are being laughed at. It must end." This declaration was greeted by shouts, sundry clattering of pewter lids and noisy rappings of earthenware on the tables. "Have we no rights as students? Must we give way to a handful of beggarly mercenaries? Must we submit to the outlawing of our customs and observances? What! We must not parade because the king does not like to be disturbed? And who are the cuira.s.siers?" n.o.body answered. n.o.body was expected to answer. "They are Frenchmen of hated memory--Swiss, Prussians, with Austrian officers. Are we or are we not an independent state? If independent, shall we stand by and see our personal liberties restricted? No! I say no!

"Let us pet.i.tion to oust these vampires, who not only rob us of our innocent amus.e.m.e.nts, but who are fed by our taxes. What right had Austria to dictate our politics? What right had she to disavow the blood and give us these Osians? O, my brothers, where are the days of Albrecht III of glorious memory? He acknowledged our rights. He was our lawful sovereign. He understood and loved us." This burst of sentiment was slightly exaggerative, if the history of that monarch is to be relied on; but the audience was mightily pleased with this recollection. It served to add to their distemper and wrath against the Osian puppet.

"And where are our own soldiers, the soldiers of the kingdom? Moldering away in the barracks, unnoticed and forgotten. For the first time in the history of the country foreigners patrol the palaces. Our soldiers are n.o.bodies. They hold no office at court save that of Marshal, and his voice is naught. Yet the brunt of the soldier's life falls on them. They watch at the frontiers, tireless and vigilant, while the mercenaries riot and play. Brothers, the time has come for us to act. The army is with us, and so are the citizens. Let ours be the glory of touching the match. We are brave and competent. We are drilled. We lack not courage.

Let us secretly arm and watch for the opportunity to strike a blow for our rights. Confusion to the Osians, and may the d.u.c.h.ess soon come into her own!"

He jumped from the stage, and another took his place; the haranguing went on. The orators were serious and earnest; they believed themselves to be patriots, pure and simple, when in truth they were experiencing the same spirit of revolt as the boy whose mother had whipped him for making an unnecessary noise, or stealing into the b.u.t.tery.

While the excitement was at its height, a man, somewhat older than the majority of the students, entered the bar-room from the street, and lounged heavily against the railing. His clothes were soiled and wrinkled, blue circles shadowed his eyes, which were of dull jet, the corners of his mouth drooped dejectedly, and his oily face, covered with red stubble, gave evidences of a prolonged debauch.

"Wine, Stuler, wine!" he called, laying down a coin, which gleamed dimly yellow in the opalescent light. "And none of your devilish vinegars and sc.u.ms."

Stuler pounced on the coin and rubbed it between his palms. "Gold, Johann, gold?"

"Aye, gold; and the last of a pocketful, curse it! What's this noise about?" with a gesture, toward the hall.

"The boys were in the Platz and had a brush with those d.a.m.ned cuira.s.siers. They'll play a harder game yet." Stuler always took sides with the students, on business principles; they const.i.tuted his purse.

"Tokayer?"

"No; champagne. Aye, these d.a.m.ned cuira.s.siers shall play a hard game ere the week is done, or my name is not Johann Kopf. They kicked me out of the palace grounds yesterday; me, me, me!" hammering the oak with his fist.

"Who?"

"Von Mitter, the English-bred dog! I'll kill him one of these days. Is it play to-night, or are they serious?" nodding again toward the hall.