CHAPTER VI
In the “Blue Salon” of Schönbrunn, the imperial family awaited the coming of the Emperor and the Prince, talking together softly, not only of “Maxchen,” as they called him lovingly, but of Fritzl, whose story had spread throughout the palace.
At last, the Hofmeister threw open impressively the east door of the salon, and across its threshold, and down the pathway made for him by his family, the Emperor passed slowly. Lightly holding his right hand, trying to walk demurely, but fluttering along like a white rosebud softly blown, was the little Archduchess Betty. Tightly clinging to his left hand, walked a boy, holding a violin. Behind, went the Archduke Max, in his wheeled chair, and beside him was the great surgeon.
At the dais, on one side of the salon, the three children and the Herr Doctor halted, while the Emperor mounted its steps, and bowing to those assembled, who curtsied and bowed deeply in return, took his seat upon the golden throne.
It was all very solemn and stately. And Fritzl felt rather lonely. He missed Tzandi, among all these strange and awe-inspiring people.
“I wonder,” he thought to himself, “if they’re both dreams—last night, in the Stephansplatz, and here, to-night!”
Now just at that moment there came the sound of subdued but excited voices at the east door of the salon. The dignified Hofmeister was seen to plunge wildly forward, in a vain attempt to bar the way. And then—and then—(as long as he lives, Fritzl says he can never forget the mingling of surprise and joy and shame which flooded his heart) a little terrier dog, ears and tail erect in the pride of victory, trotted through the door, and across the room to the three children, grouped at the foot of the throne. Looking up into Fritzl’s scarlet face, he wagged his stumpy tail joyously, and giving three sharp little barks of salutation, sat up on his hind legs, his fore paws waving politely. One ear erect, the other drooping in that deprecating fashion, which means that a little dog knows he is doing what he should not, but really can not help it.
How he reached his master remains a mystery unto this day. But there he was.
Laughing heartily with the rest, the Emperor said, “Although an uninvited, thou art a welcome guest, Monsieur Tzandi!” While Max and Betty patted his shaggy head, as he trotted from one to the other, licking their hands with his soft red tongue.
Suddenly, the Emperor nodded to the Herr Doctor.
The face of the little Prince grew white; but there was no trace of fear or doubt in the blue eyes, lifted to the great surgeon’s face.
Betty tried to smile bravely at him, creeping closer to Fritzl, and slipping her hand within his. While to Fritzl himself it seemed as if everyone must hear the beating of his heart, so frightened was he.
Then, very tenderly, the Herr Doctor lifted the Prince from his wheeled chair, and stood him carefully on the dais, a few feet from the Emperor’s throne. Involuntarily, both Betty and Fritzl moved nearer, each stretching out a trembling hand as if to help him. But Max stood steadily.
“Maxchen, Maxchen,” called softly the Emperor, his face as white as his snowy hair, “come thou to me, dear child!”
The boy gave a last look into the good Doctor’s eyes, which were strangely dim.
“Go thou, little lad,” said the surgeon gently.
Then the Prince walked bravely into his grandfather’s outstretched arms.