CHAPTER III
Just about the time when Fritzl and Tzandi waked, that Christmas morning, two little children within the palace at Schönbrunn were welcoming the Christ Child’s Day.
One, a boy of eleven, known throughout Austria-Hungary as “the little lame Prince,” was the Archduke Maximilian. The other, a girl of nine, was the Archduchess Elizabeth. But to each other, and the imperial family at Vienna, they were known as “Max” and “Betty.”
Max had been the first to waken; but for a time he laid very still, cuddled within the soft blankets of his bed, his young heart beating happily, at the thought of what the day was to bring to him. Ever since he was born, the little Prince had been crippled. But for nearly two years, the famous surgeon of the Kinderspitzel of Vienna had been treating him; and this Christmas Day he was to walk, for the first time in his life. And all the great empire of Austria-Hungary was waiting for the test, almost as eagerly as he. For when the good Emperor, his grandfather, should cease to reign, Max would be “Unser Kaiser” to millions of people.
Suddenly there came a knock at the door.
“Merry Christmas, and come in, Betty!” called Max excitedly.
And a small girl, crying as excitedly, “Merry Christmas, Maxchen, and I knew perfectly well you’d say it first!” pushed open the door, and running across the room, threw herself down by Maxchen’s bed, flinging her soft arms around her brother’s neck.
“Oh, Betty, Betty,” he cried, as he nestled against her, “it seems almost too good to be true! Only it must come true, mustn’t it, Christmas Day?”
“’Course it must,” agreed Betty stoutly; “why, didn’t the Herr Doctor tell you it would come true, this very day?”
“Yes,” breathed Max softly.
“And there’s nothing in the world, the Herr Doctor doesn’t know,” declared Betty; “and I love him.”
“So do I,” cried Max; “almost as much as Grandpapa Franzchen!” For by that name, born of affection, was the august Emperor of Austria-Hungary known to his grandchildren.
“Betty,” the boy cried abruptly, “the very first race we’ll run will be from there,” pointing to the “Gloriette,” shining like a jewel in the sunrise light,—“straight to the edge of the lily pond. And—and—I’ll beat you, you little girl!”
“Can’t!” answered Betty, stretching out her slim straight legs, and looking at them with confidence.
“Can!” Max cried delightedly. And then they both laughed, and cuddled together more closely.
“Do you remember,” Max went on, “that boy we watched, in the rose garden, running races with his dog, one day last summer? The boy with a violin under his arm?”
Yes, Betty remembered.
“My, how he ran!” sighed Max, “and we called and called to him, and finally made ‘Goggles’” (this the most dignified of the tutors of the Prince) “go after him. But of course he couldn’t run fast enough, and the boy got quite away. I wish I could find that boy. Betty,” rising on one elbow, “when I walk, I will! I do so want that boy and that dog!”
“Why,” laughed matter-of-fact Betty, “you’ve heaps of boys to play with, and heaps of dogs!”
“But not one boy who can play the violin. And not one dog that can dance.”
“Well, that dog was a dear,” Betty agreed cordially; “and—why, Maxchen,” she went on, “we’ll ask Grandpapa Franzchen to get the boy and the dog for us, this very Christmas Day. We’ll—” But the little maid’s blithe voice was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the corridor. The door opened softly, “His Majesty the Emperor and the Herr Doctor,” was solemnly announced. And into the sunlit room, two stately men came.
We know quite well how “Unser Franz” looked. We saw him, that very morning, speaking kindly to Fritzl and Tzandi, at the Riesenthor.
“Merry Christmas—Merry Christmas, dear Grandpapa Franzchen and dear Herr Doctor!” cried the children. And Betty slipped quickly to the floor, and curtsied demurelyto the Emperor.
“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!” returned the Emperor and Doctor gaily, who had wisely given the children the longed-for chance to say it first.
Then the old Kaiser caught Betty up in his arms, and kissed her forehead. “Now God bless thee,Liebchen,” he said, seating himself in the great chair beside the bed, and bending over and kissing Max on both his cheeks. Then, with an arm around each grandchild, he looked up at the Herr Doctor, standing straight and tall beside him.
A very king of men was the Herr Doctor, with stalwart shoulders, and kindly grave eyes, the color of the sea, when the sky is clouded.
“Well, your Highness,” he said, in a voice as tender as his eyes, “all ready to walk to-night?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Max bravely, but nestling closer against his grandfather.
Then the Herr Doctor looked down into the anxious face of the old Emperor.
“Your Majesty need have no fear of the result of to-night’s test,” he said softly, “the little lad will walk.”
“And Grandpapachen,” cried Betty, breaking into the solemn pause which followed, “he’s going to run races with the boy and the dog! The boy with the fiddle, and the dog that can dance, you know,” she explained rapidly. “Why, Grandpapa Franzchen,” stroking his white hair with her dimpled hand, “Max wants that boy and that dog,so!Please get them for him, dear Grandpapa Emperor!”
When Betty commenced her story of the races to be run with a boy who carried a violin, and a little dog that could dance, a strange look had flashed into the Emperor’s eyes. This deepened to one of amazement, and then his whole face glowed with the thought within his heart.
It seemed that he was going to be able to give even more pleasure than he had hoped.
“Well, Maxchen,” he laughed, “thou hast set thy grandfather a hard task! To find, in his great city of Vienna, a boy who plays the fiddle and who has a dog that dances! But he will try, Liebchen,” patting his grandson’s head softly. “Would you know them, should you see them again, little ones?” he cried, quite as excited now as the children.
“Why, of course we would,” laughed Betty, for herself and Max too: “there are only—they—you know, Grandpapa dear!”
“I will commence to search for them this moment,” announced the Emperor gaily, lifting Betty to the floor and rising from his chair, “and the Herr Doctor shall help me! But what wilt thou do with them, beside run races, should I find them for thee?” he asked Max.
“I will make them happy,” said the little lame Prince.
As the two men were leaving the room, the Herr Doctor turned. “Your Highness,” he said, “where will you go first, when you walk to-night?”
“To my Emperor,” answered the boy proudly, raising one little hand in salute.