The Puppet Crown Part 49

"Curse him and his d.a.m.ned gold! He never warned me as he said he would."

On he rode. The moon became obscured, and when it flashed again he could see it but indistinctly.... To reach the city, to reach Gertrude's, to give the horse a cut and send him adrift, this was his endeavor. But would he reach the city--alive? Was he dying? He could not see... Yet again he shut his jaws and drew on his entire strength. He was keeping in the saddle by will power alone. If the horse faltered he was lost. To Gertrude; she could use them. And after all he loved her. If he died she would be provided for.

The first of the city lamps. He sobbed. Into this street he turned, into that, expecting each moment to be challenged, for the white saddle blanket of the cuira.s.siers stood out conspicuously. At last he had but a corner to turn. He stopped, slid from the saddle and gave the animal a cut across the face. The horse reared, then plunged forward at a wild gallop. Johann staggered along the street, fumbling in his pockets for his keys.

Gertrude of the opera company was usually in the ballet. To-night she had left the stage after the first dance. She had complained of a severe headache, and as the manager knew her worth he had permitted her withdrawal from the corps. She lived off the Frohngarten, in an apartment on the second floor, over a cheap restaurant. She was bathing her temples in perfumed ammonia water, when she heard footsteps in the corridor, and later the rasp of a key in the lock. As the door opened she beheld a spectacle which caused her to scream.

"Hush! Gertrude, I am dying.... Brandy! I must talk to you! Silence!"

Johann tottered to a lounge and dropped on his side.

The woman, still trembling with fright and terror, poured into her palm some of the pungent liquid with which she had been bathing her temples, and held it under his nose. It revived him. And in a few broken sentences he made known to her what had happened.

"Gertrude, I am lost!" He breathed with difficulty. "I have lived like a rascal, and I die like one. But I have always loved you; I have always been true to you; I have never beaten nor robbed you." His eyes closed.

"O G.o.d," she cried, "what shall I do? Johann, you must not die! We will leave the country together. Johann, you do not speak! Johann!"

She kissed him, pressed him in her arms, regardless of the stains which these frantic fondlings gathered from his breast. "Johann!"

"Rich," he said dreamily; "rich... and to die like a dog!"

She left him and rushed to the sideboard, poured out a tumbler of brandy, and returned to his side. She raised his head, but he swallowed with effort.

"In the lungs," he said. "G.o.d! how it burns! Rich; we are rich, Gertrude; a hundred thousand crowns.... And I am dying!... What a failure! Curse them all; they never offered to lend a hand unless it led toward h.e.l.l! Gertrude... I must tell you. Here; here, put your hand in this pocket; yes. Draw them out... A hundred thousand crowns!"

The woman shuddered. Her hand and what it held were wet with blood.

"Hide them!" And Johann fainted away for the second time. When he came to his senses, several minutes had pa.s.sed. Quickly, with what remaining strength he had, he unfolded his plan.

And her one idea was to save him. She drenched her handkerchief with the ammonia, and bade him hold it to his nose, while she fetched a basin of water and a sponge. Tenderly she drew back his coat and washed the blood from his throat and lips, and moistened his hair.

"Listen!" he cried suddenly, rising on his elbow. "It is they! They have found me! Quick! to the roof!" He struggled to his feet, with that strength which imparts itself to dying men, super-human while it lasts.

He threw one arm around her neck. "Help me!"

And thus they gained the hall, mounted the flight to the roof, he groaning and urging, she sobbing, hysterical, and frenzied. She climbed the ladder with him, threw back the trap, and helped him on the roof.

"Now leave me!" he said, kissing her hand.

She gave him her lips, and went down to her rooms, and waited and waited. This agony of suspense lasted a quarter of an hour, when again came the clatter of hoofs. Would this, too, prove a false alarm? She held her hand to her ear. If he were dying... They had stopped; they were mounting the stairs; O G.o.d, they were beating on the door!

"Open!" cried a voice without; "open in the king's name!"

She gasped, but words would not come. She clenched her hands until the nails sank into the flesh.

"Open, Madame, or down comes the door."

The actress in her came to the rescue. The calm of despair took possession of her.

"In a moment, Messieurs," she said. Her voice was without agitation. She opened the door and the cuira.s.siers pushed past her. "In heaven's name, Messieurs, what does this mean?"

"We want Johann Kopf," was the answer, "and we have it from good authority that he is here. Do not interfere with us; you are in no wise connected with the affair."

"He is not here," she replied. She wondered at herself, her tones were so even, her mind was so clear.

One of the cuira.s.siers caught up her gown. "What's this, Madame?" he demanded, pointing to the dark wet stains; "and this?" to her hands, "and this?" to the spots on the carpet, the basin and the sponge. "To the roof, men; he has gone by the roof! Up with you!"

The ballet dancer held forth her hands in supplication; life forsook her limbs; she sank.

The cuira.s.siers rushed to the roof.... When they came down it was slowly and carefully. What they had found on the roof was of no use to them.

They laid the inanimate thing on the lounge, and frowned. One of the cuira.s.siers lifted the ballet dancer and carried her into her bed-room, and laid her on the bed. He had not the heart to revive her. Death softens all angers; even an enemy is no longer such when dead. And Johann Kopf was dead.

CHAPTER XXI. A COURT FETE AT THE RED CHATEAU

At eight o'clock of the following evening, that is to say, the nineteenth of September, Maurice mounted the Thalian pa.s.s and left the kingdom in the valley behind him. He was weary, dusty, lame and out of humor; besides, he had a new weight on his conscience. The night before he had taken the life of a man. True, this had happened before, but always in warfare. He had killed in a moment of rage and chagrin a poor devil who was at most only a puppet. There was small credit in the performance. However, the rascal would have suffered death in any event, his act being one of high treason.

In the long ride he had made up his mind to lock away forever the silly dream, the tender, futile, silly dream. All men die with secrets locked in their hearts; thus he, too, would die. His fancy leaped across the chasm of intervening years to the day of his death, and the thought was a happy one! He smiled sadly, as young men smile when they pity themselves. He knew that he would never get over it--in a day. But to-morrow, or to-morrow's to-morrow..

He took the pa.s.s's decline; the duchy spread away toward the south. A quarter of a mile below him he saw the barrack and the customs office which belonged to Madame the d.u.c.h.ess. The corporal inspected him and his papers, spoke lowly to the customs inspector, who returned to his office.

"It is all right, Monsieur Carewe," said the corporal; "I ought to recognize the horse a mile away. You will arrive just in time."

"Just in time for what?"

"Ah, true. Her Highness gives a grand ball at the chateau to-night. The court has arrived from Brunnstadt. Some will reside at the chateau, some at General Duckwitz's, others at the Countess Herzberg's."

"Has the d.u.c.h.ess arrived at last, then?" was the cynical inquiry.

"She will arrive this evening," answered the corporal, grinning. "A pleasant journey to you."

Maurice proceeded. "And that blockhead of an Englishman has not tumbled yet! The court here? A grand ball? What else can it mean but that Madame is celebrating a victory to come? If the archbishop has those consols, she will wage war; and this is the prelude." He jogged along. He had accomplished a third of the remaining distance, when he was challenged.

The sentry came forward and scrutinized the rider.

"O, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried in delighted tones. He touched his cap and fell back into the shadows.

A mile farther, and the great chateau, scintillating with lights, loomed up against the yellow sky. He felt a thrill of excitement. Doubtless there would be some bright pa.s.sages before the night drew to a close. He would make furious love to the pretty countess; it would be something in the way of relaxation. How would they greet him? What would be Madame's future plans in regard to Fitzgerald? How would she get him out of the way, now that he had served her purpose? He laughed.

"The future promises much," he said, half aloud. "I am really glad that I came back."

"Halt!"

Maurice drew up. A sentry stepped out into the road.

"O, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried. With a short laugh he disappeared.

"Hang me," grumbled Maurice as he went on, "these fellows have remarkable memories. I can't recollect any of them." He was mystified.

Shortly he came upon the patrol. The leader ordered him to dismount, an order be obeyed willingly, for he was longing to stand again. He shook his legs, while the leader struck a match.

"Why, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried. "Good! We are coming out to meet you. This is a pleasure indeed."