CHAPTER XIIIOF OUR ENTRANCE INTO A NEW SERVICE
Againstthis order the Count of Nullepart laid an objection. He made the lady the offer of his own apartment; and this she accepted with a more gentle air than any she had previously used. While the landlord went to have this chamber put in readiness, she turned to my companion, saying with a slight hesitation that became her adorably,—
“Sir, you are my good friend.”
“Your servant, madam, if your highness will only have it so,” said the Count of Nullepart, with his amused air and that soft lisping speech which must have captivated the heart of any lady in the world.
“You call me out of my condition, sir,” said she. “You speak me above my degree.”
“Marry, do I?” said the Count of Nullepart, with a laugh and a shrug of the shoulders; “then will your highness furnish your true name and title, for I do but speak you as you seem, which I am sure cannot be more than you are.”
“Yes, sir, you speak me out of my title, but I can see it is the fault of a courteous mind. But I cannot publish my degree to the world, sir, neither can I publish my name, so perhaps it were better that you addressed me as madam.”
“Well, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart, “I believe you to be in need of true servants, for you travel alone and in dangerous places.”
“A woman, sir, is ever in need of true servants,” said this adorable creature, that was hardly more than a child, looking upon the Count of Nullepart with large and unfearing eyes.
“You have either mixed in the world, madam,” said he, “or you were born with knowledge, or this may be better sooth than you are aware; for, as you say, every woman is in need of true servants. I make you the formal proffer, madam, of my sword, my goodwill, and my devotion.”
Without more ado the Count of Nullepart rose from the table, and drawing his fine Spanish blade, fell on one knee before her. With the simple dignity of a princess, she held out her hand, and with charming humility the Count of Nullepart bore it to his lips.
“This is a good providence,” said she, with a bright colour in her cheek, “for never was a woman in such sore need of good servants.”
Immediately these words were spoken I also rose, and inspired by the count’s example, drew my sword, and offered my service also. She accepted them with beautiful grace and composure.
“I fear, my friends,” said she, “you will have arduous labours. I am beset with every difficulty, and I have a great work to perform.”
“Your servants will be the happier, madam,” said I. “They will not be wanting in the hour of need.”
Suddenly she rose with truly regal proudness, andlooked at the Count of Nullepart and myself with earnest, questioning glances.
“Have you led armies, sir?” she asked of my companion.
“Ah, no, madam,” said he with an arch smile; “except in my own soul.”
“And you, sir, have you led armies?” she asked of me.
“No, madam,” I said, “I have yet to do so; but there are those of my name who have fallen in battle, and when occasion calls, may I stand true to my inheritance!”
“And you know not the field,” said she, “nor yet of the practice of war?”
“No, madam, but I have renounced my native mountains that I may gain that knowledge.”
“It is well, sir, for in your new service you will see shrewd blows given.”
“And shall hope to give them, madam.”
“Yes, sir,” said she, with the gravity of a minister of state, “you have a martial look; I doubt not the valiancy of your disposition.”
The innkeeper came now to inform her that the sleeping-chamber had been set ready for her use.
“Before I give you good-night, my friends,” she said in her proud, clear speech, “I would have you, sir, play me another of your melodies upon the sweet instrument of which I cannot remember the name.”
To this command the Count of Nullepart assented with an excellent grace, although on the previous occasion she had hardly deigned to listen to his playing. This time, however, she followed the music with flushedcheeks and parted lips, which showed she was yet something of a child at heart, although a woman in affairs.
“I thank you, friend,” she said gravely; “you are indeed a sweet musicianer. It will be a part of your service to play to me every evening before I retire.”
I know not whether it was the service we had proferred to her, or the wistful notes of the music that had melted her, but now she seemed to be transformed from the great lady of affairs to the romantical maid.
“You will attend me, my friends, through bloodshed and darkness,” she said; “and whenever my voice is raised, and wherever it may be heard, you will obey its call?”
“We have sworn it, madam,” said the Count of Nullepart.
“I see dark days; I fear an old house is poor and enfeebled, and is tottering to its ruin. But it is a good providence that sends such friends to its succour, and they shall be remembered in my prayers. At six of the morning we get upon our road. I now give you good-night, my friends; but in the meanwhile I would have you sleep warily, for at any hour I may inquire if you are of a good vigilance.”
I cannot say with what enchantment we watched this fair and imperious thing ascend the stairs of the inn to her chamber.
“That is a sweet quean,” said the Count of Nullepart, calling for a new bottle of wine.
“And a brave, forsooth,” said I. “What, I wonder, can be her degree?”
“To-morrow,” said the Count of Nullepart, “will unmask this fair unknown.”
“How singular it is,” said I, “that she should ride unattended over the country and in these unseasonable hours.”
“To-morrow we shall understand it all,” said the Count of Nullepart. “Then shall we learn to what high destiny we are called.”
“I am deceived,” said I, “if there is not to be a great work toward. By my faith, how beautiful she is!”
“Aye,” said the count, with one of his melancholy glances, “she is indeed the Proud Princess. Therefore I expect to-morrow will not dawn for us. We shall fall asleep over our wine, you and I, my dear Don Miguel, and awake to find that there is an end to our dreams. We shall find the bird flown.”
“She will have to fly out at the window, then, Sir Count.”
“Yes; doubtless she will prefer to do that. For there never was a bird so beautiful, so graceful, so touched with the soft hues of romance that the soul of a man was able to keep it before it to gaze upon. This is some princess out of an Arabian story. We shall find, dear friend, that there is no flesh and blood in her. She came to us out of the air, and to-morrow at dawn we shall find her resolved again into that element.”
“In the meantime we will be of good courage, Sir Count, and dream upon her—”
“In all her lily-white daintiness, which was never so dustily and coarsely clad.”
The Count of Nullepart took forth his music yet again, and played a final melody; one which in grave sweetness and fantasy and delicacy of passion was more than equal to all the others. We then drained our cupsand fell into slumber presently, with our heads on the table at which we sat.
I suppose we must both have been dreaming of that vision that had made poetry of our ideas, and I suppose that proud and beautiful face, which was yet so bright with youth, and so grave with its coquetry, may even have revealed itself through the mists of the brain, for at some hour towards two of the clock of the summer’s darkness we sprang to our feet with that imperious voice in our ears.
“To me, my friends, to me!” was the cry we heard.
Together we sprang from the settle, and ran to the stairs.
“To me, my friends, to me!” we heard the cry again. It was clear and spreading, yet withal it was the voice of a child.
Running pell-mell up the dark stairs, for as yet the dawn had made no sign, we found standing at their head, as staunch as a spear, the small princess we were pledged to serve. Above her head she held a taper.
“I thank you, friends, I find you vigilant,” she said in a voice she might have used upon two honest hounds that had pleased her well with their fidelity. She gave us the tips of her slender fingers to caress, and then returned to her chamber with a calm disdain that filled us with a kind of passion.
During the remainder of the night there was no more sleep for her two faithful servants, who went back to their table and passed the hours till dawn casting the dice and descanting upon her beauty.
At the first beams of day we went forth into the streets of the sleeping city, walking arm-in-arm anddiscussing the adventures that were likely to befall us. The Count of Nullepart was a man of some thirty years of age, and so deeply versed in the ways of the world that he viewed this odd matter in the light of a diversion rather than as a truly momentous affair.
“I do not love you the less, Don Miguel,” he said, “because you are entranced by this fair unknown. But you must not take it amiss if I follow your ravishment at a respectful distance. She is indeed a sweet thing, and of an infinite caprice, and we must indeed be grateful for her boldness, wherever it may lead. It may enable us to forget the world for a season; and above all, my dear Don Miguel, is not that the aim of a ripe philosophy?”
It surprised me that my comrade should permit himself such a whimsical indifference upon this subject; yet, after all, I was moved to the reflection that it was not so surprising neither, as he appeared to be of her kin.
The way led us directly to the market square, whereupon the Count of Nullepart insisted upon proceeding to the identical spot in which we had first become acquainted.
“That was an unequal combat, my dear Don Miguel, you waged with the horse-dealer,” he said, laughing. “I never derived a greater pleasure from anything than the manner in which your own delicate and gentle wits endeavoured to surmount the nimble ones of that hard-featured rogue.”
“I believe,” said I, “that yesterday was the turning-point of my life. In the forenoon I suffered a grievous hap; in the afternoon I gained a dear friend; and inthe evening I set my eyes upon the mistress who is to be the pole-star of my fortune.”
Having uttered this prophecy, I recited to my companion the noble words of Don Ygnacio touching this matter. He smiled his approval of them, and assured me that my father must have been a great gentleman. We then retraced our steps to the inn, lest we should keep our wonderful lady waiting. Yet as we made towards it, the Count of Nullepart in his whimsical fashion vowed we should find her flown.