The Puppet Crown Part 58

Maurice explained the cause of their absence. The prince swore, and climbed with difficulty into the saddle.

"Thank G.o.d," he said, as they galloped away, "we shall be there first."

"Adieu, Madame!" Maurice cried, airily. He was free.

"To our next meeting, d.u.c.h.ess!" The prince, too, was free, but he thirsted for a full revenge.

They had been on the way but a short time when Maurice lifted his arm.

"Look!"

The prince raised his head. It was dawn, yellow and cold and pure.

They fell into silence; sometimes Maurice caught himself counting the beat of the hoofs and the variation of sounds, as when they struck sand or slate, or crossed small wooden bridges. Here and there he saw peasants going into the fields to begin the long, long day of toil. The saddle on which he sat had been the property of a short man, for the stirrups were too high, and the prince's were too low. But neither desired to waste time to adjust them. And so they rode with dangling legs and bodies sunken in the saddles; mute, as if by agreement.

They had gone perhaps ten miles when they perceived a horse flying toward them, half a mile away. The rider was not yet visible. They felt no alarm, but instinctively they drew together. Nearer and nearer came the lonely horseman, and as the distance lessened into some hundred yards they discerned the flutter of a gown.

"A woman!" exclaimed Maurice. "And alone this time of morning!"

"Eh?" cried the prince; "and heading for the duchy? Let us wait."

They drew up to the side of the highway. The woman came fearlessly on, her animal's head down and his tail flaring out behind. On, on; abreast of them; as she flew past there was a vision of a pale, determined face, a blond head bared to the chill wind. She heeded not their challenge; it was a question whether or not she heard it. They stood watching her until she and her horse dwindled into a mere moving speck, finally to become lost altogether in a crook of the road.

"I should like to know what that means," said Maurice.

"It is very strange," the prince said, musingly. "I have seen that woman before. She is one of the dancers at the opera."

"Mayhap she has a lover on the other side."

"Mayhap. Let us be on. There's the sun, and we are a good thirteen miles away!" and the prince slapped the neck of his horse, which bounded forward.

This tiring pace they maintained until they mounted the hill from which they could see the glittering spires of the city, and the Werter See as it flashed back the sunlight.

"Bleiberg!" Maurice waved his hand.

"Thanks to you, that I look on it."

It was ten o'clock when they pa.s.sed under the city gates.

"Monsieur, will you go with me to the palace?" asked the prince.

"If your Highness will excuse me," said Maurice; "no, I should be in the way; and besides I am dead for want of sleep."

"I shall never sleep," grumbled the prince, "till I have humbled that woman. And you? Have you no rankle in your heart? Have you no desire to witness that woman's humiliation?"

"Your Highness, I belong to a foreign country."

"No matter; be my aide. Come; I offer you a complete revenge for the treatment you have received at Madame's hands. Your government shall never know."

Maurice studied the mane of his horse. Suddenly he made a gesture. This gesture consigned to the four winds his diplomatic career. "I accept,"

he said. "You will find me at the Continental. I confess that I have no love for this woman. She has robbed me of no little conceit."

"To the palace, then; to the palace! And this hour to-morrow we, you and I, will drink to her Royal Highness at the Red Chateau. To the palace!"

Up the Stra.s.se they raced, through the lower town to the upper, and down the broad asphalt to the palace gates. The prince rushed his horse to the very bars and shook them in his wild impatience.

"Ho! open, open!" he called.

Several cuira.s.siers lounged about. At the sight of these two hatless, bedraggled men storming the gates, they ran forward with drawn swords and angry cries. Lieutenant Scharfenstein was among them. At second glance he recognized Maurice, who hailed him.

"Open, Lieutenant," he cried; "it is his Highness, Prince Frederick!"

The bars came down, the gates swung in.

"Go and sleep," said the prince to Maurice; "I will send an orderly for you when the time comes." And with this he dashed up the driveway to the main entrance of the palace, leaped from his horse and disappeared.

Maurice wheeled and drove leisurely to the Continental, leaving the amazed cuira.s.siers gaping after him. He experienced that exuberance of spirits which always comes with a delightful day dream. He forgot his weariness, his bruises. To mingle directly in the affairs of kings and princes, to be a factor among factors who surround and uphold thrones, seemed so at variance with his republican learning that he was not sure that all this was not one long dream--Fitzgerald and his consols, the meeting with the princess, the adventures at Madame's chateau, the duel with Beauvais, the last night's flight with the prince across the mountains! Yes; he had fallen asleep somewhere and had been whisked away into a kind of fairyland. Every one was in trouble just now, as they always are in certain chapters of fairy tales, but all would end happily, and then--he would wake.

Meanwhile the prince entered the palace and was proceeding up the grand corridor, when a bared sword stayed his progress.

"Monsieur," said von Mitter, "you have lost your way. You can not enter here."

"I?" a haughty, threatening expression on his pale face. "Are you sure?"

Von Mitter fell back against the wall and all but lost hold of his saber. "Your Highness?" he gasped, overcome.

"Even so!" said the prince. "The archbishop! the Marshal! Lead me to them at once!"

Von Mitter was too much the soldier not to master his surprise at once.

He saluted, clicked his heels and limped toward the throne room.

He stopped at the threshold, saluted again, and, in a voice full of quavers, announced:

"His Highness Prince Frederick of Carnavia."

He stepped aside, and the prince pushed past him into the throne room.

At this dramatic entrance there rose from the archbishop, the Marshal, the princess, the Carnavian amba.s.sador, from all the court dignitaries, a cry of wonder and astonishment.

"His Highness!"

"Aye!" cried the prince, brokenly, for his joy at seeing the princess nigh overcame him. "I have been a prisoner of Madame's, who at this moment is marching on Bleiberg with an army four thousand strong!" And stumblingly he related his misadventures.

The Marshal did not wait until he had done, nor did the new Colonel of the cuira.s.siers; both rushed from the room. The archbishop frowned; while the princess and the court stared at the prince with varying emotions. Before the final word had pa.s.sed his lips, he approached her Highness, fell on his knee and raised her hand to his lips. He noticed not how cold it was.

"Thank G.o.d, Mademoiselle," he said, "that once more I look into your eyes. And if one wedding day is gone--well, there is yet time for another!" He, rose, and proudly before them all he drew her toward him and kissed her cheek. It was his right; she was, the light of all his dreams, at once his bride-to-be and lady-love. But in his joy and eagerness he did not see how pale she grew at the touch of his lips, nor how the lids of her eyes trembled and fell.

Next the prince recounted Maurice's adventures, how he became connected with those at the chateau, even Fitzgerald's fall from grace. The indignation and surprise which was accorded this recital was unbounded.

The brown eyes of the princess filled. In a moment she had traversed the s.p.a.ce of ten years to a rare September noon, when a gray-haired old man had kissed her hand and praised her speech. A young dog stood beside her, ready for a romp in the park. Across the path sat her father, who was smiling, and who would never smile again. How many times had her girlish fancy pictured the son of that old man! How many times had she dreamed of him--aye, prayed for him! The room grew dark, and she pressed her hand over her heart. To her the future was empty indeed. There was nothing left but the vague perfume of the past, the faint incense of futile, childish dreams. To stand on the very threshold of life, and yet to see no joy beyond! She struggled against the sob which rose, and conquered it.