Chapter Three.The Revelations of a Commoner.Princess and commoner walked in silence, side by side. The rough night wind blew the dust in their faces, but they bent to it heedlessly, both too full of their own thoughts for words; the man half confused in the presence of the brilliant woman who ere long would be his sovereign; the woman stupefied at the dastardly intrigue that had not only estranged her husband from her, but had for its object the expulsion from the kingdom of herself and her child.Open-hearted as she was, liberal-minded, pleasant, easy-going, and a delightful companion, she had never sufficiently realised that at that stiff, narrow-minded Court there were men and women who hated her. All of us are so very loth to believe that we have enemies, and more especially those who believe in the honesty and integrity of mankind.She reflected upon her interview with the Emperor. She remembered his Majesty’s hard words. Had those conspiring against her obtained his ear?Even De Trauttenberg, the tall, patient, middle-aged woman in whom she had reposed such confidence, was their spy! Steinbach’s story staggered belief. And yet—and yet was not the Emperor’s anger plain proof that he knew something—that a foul plot was really in progress?Along those dark winding paths they strolled slowly, meeting no one, for the place was utterly deserted. It was an exciting escapade, and dangerous withal.The man at last broke the silence, saying,—“I need not impress upon your Imperial Highness the necessity for discretion in this matter. To betray your knowledge of the affair would be to betray me.”“Trust me,” was her answer. “I know how to keep a secret, and I am not likely to forget this important service you have rendered me.”“My only regret is that I was unable to approach you months ago, when I first made the discovery. Your Highness would have then been able to avoid the pitfalls constantly set for you,” the man said meaningly.The Princess Claire bit her lip. She knew to what he referred. She had been foolish, ah yes; very foolish. And he dare not be more explicit.“Yes,” she sighed. “I know—I know to what you refer. But surely we need not discuss it. Even though I am Crown Princess, I am a woman, after all.”“I beg your Highness’s pardon,” he exclaimed quickly, fearing that she was annoyed.“There is nothing to pardon,” was her reply. “You are my friend, and speak to me in my own interests. For that I thank you. Only—only—” she added, “all that you’ve just told me is such a startling revelation. My eyes are opened now. I see the dastardly ingenuity of it all. I know why my husband—”But she checked herself instantly. No. However ill-treated she had been she would preserve her secret. She would not complain to a commoner at risk of her domestic infelicity going forth to her people.It was true that within a year of marriage he had thrown her down in her room and kicked her in one of his paroxysms of temper. He had struck her blows innumerable; but she had borne all in patience, and De Trauttenberg had discovered dark marks upon her white shoulders which she had attributed to a fall upon the ice. She saw now the reason of his estrangement; how his sycophants had poisoned his mind against her because they feared her.“Steinbach,” she said at last, “tell me the truth. What do the people think of me? You are a commoner and live among them. I, imprisoned at Court, unfortunately, know nothing. The opinions of the people never reach us.”“The people, your Highness, love you. They call you ‘their Claire.’ You surely know how, when you drive out, they raise their hats and shout in acclamation.”“Yes,” she said in a low, mechanical voice, “but is it real enthusiasm? Would they really love me if I were Queen?”“Your Highness is at this moment the most popular woman in the whole kingdom of Marburg. If it were known that this plot was in progress there would in all probability be a revolution. Stuhlmann and his friends are hated everywhere, and their overthrow would cause universal satisfaction.”“And the people do not really think ill of me?”“Think ill of you, Princess?” he echoed. “Why, they literally worship you and the little Princess Ignatia.”She was silent again, walking very slowly, and reflecting deeply. It was so seldom she had opportunity of speaking with one of the people unless he were a deputy or a diplomatist, who then put on all his Court manners, was unnatural, and feared to speak. From the man beside her, however, she saw she might learn the truth of a matter which was ever uppermost in her mind. And yet she hesitated to approach what was, after all, a very delicate subject.Suddenly, with her mind made up, she halted, and turning to him, said,—“Steinbach, I want you to answer me truthfully. Do not evade the question for fear of annoying me. Speak openly, as the friend you are to me. I wish to know one thing,” and she lowered her voice until it almost faltered. “Have you heard a—well, a scandal concerning myself?”He made no answer.She repeated her question; her veiled face turned to his.“Your Highness only a few moments ago expressed a desire not to discuss the matter,” he replied in a low, distinct voice.“But I want to know,” she urged. “I must know. Tell me the truth. If you are my friend you will at least be frank with me when I command.”“If you command, Princess, then I must obey, even with reluctance,” was his response. “Yes. I have heard some gossip. It is spoken openly in Court by thedames du palais, and is now being whispered among the people.”She held her breath. Fortunately, it was dark, for she knew that her countenance had gone crimson.“Well?” she asked. “And what do they say of me?”“They, unfortunately, couple your Highness’s name with that of Count Leitolf, the chief of the private cabinet of his Majesty,” was his low answer.“Yes,” she said in a toneless voice. “And what more?”“They say that Major Scheel, attaché at the Embassy in Paris, recognised you driving with the Count in the Avenue de l’Opéra, when you were supposed to be at Aix-les-Bains with the little Princess Ignatia.”“Yes. Go on.”“They say, too, that he follows you everywhere—and that your maid Henriette helps you to leave the palace in secret to meet him.”She heard his words, and her white lips trembled.“They also declare,” he went on in a low voice, “that your love of the country is only because you are able to meet him without any one knowing, that your journey here to Vienna is on account of him—that he has followed you here.”She nodded, without uttering a word.“The Count has, no doubt, followed your Highness, indiscreetly if I may say so, for I recognised him last night dining alone at Breying’s.”“He did not see you?” she exclaimed anxiously.“No. I took good care not to be seen. I had no desire that my journey here should be known, or I should be suspected. I return to-night at midnight.”“And to be frank, Steinbach, you believe that all this has reached my husband’s ears?” she whispered in a hard, strained voice.“All that is detrimental to your Highness reaches the Crown Prince,” was his reply to the breathless woman, “and certainly not without embellishments. That is why I implore of you to be circumspect—why I am here to tell you of the plot to disgrace you in the people’s eyes.”“But the people themselves are now speaking of—of the Count?” she said in a low, uncertain voice, quite changed from her previous musical tones when first they met.“A scandal—and especially a Court one—very soon spreads among the people. The royal servants gossip outside the palace, and moreover your Highness’s many enemies are only too delighted to assist in spreading such reports. It gives motive for the Crown Prince’s estrangement.”Her head was bent, her hands were trembling. The iron had entered her soul.The people—the people whom she so dearly loved, and who had waved their hands and shouted those glad welcomes to her as she drove out—were now whispering of Leitolf.She bit her lip, and her countenance went pale as death as the truth arose before her in all its hideous ghastliness.Even the man at her side, the humble man who had stood by her as her friend, knew that Leitolf was there—in Vienna—to be near her. Even Steinbach could have no further respect for her as a woman—only respect because she was one day to be his sovereign.Her hands were clenched; she held her breath, and shivered as the chill wind cut through her. She longed to be back in her father’s palace; to be alone in her room to think.“And nothing more?” she asked in that same blank voice which now caused her companion to wonder.“Only that they say evil of you that is not worth repeating,” was his brief answer.She sighed again, and then when she had sufficiently recovered from the effect of his words, she whispered in a low voice,—“I—I can only thank you, Steinbach, for giving me this warning. Forgive me if—if I am somewhat upset by it—but I am a woman—and perhaps it is only natural. Trust me to say nothing. Leave Vienna to-night and return home. If you ever wish to communicate with me write guardedly, making an appointment, and address your letter to Madame Emond at the Poste Restante in Brussels. You will recollect the name?”“Most certainly I shall, your Highness. I can only ask pardon for speaking so openly. But it was at your request.”“Do not let us mention it further,” she urged, her white lips again compressed. “Leave me now. It is best that I should walk down yonder to the Parkring alone.”He halted, and bowing low, his hat in his hand, said,—“I would ask your Imperial Highness to still consider me your humble servant to command in any way whatsoever, and to believe that I am ever ready to serve you and to repay the great debt of gratitude I owe to you.”And, bending, he took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips in obeisance to the princess who was to be his queen.“Adieu, Steinbach,” she said in a broken voice. “And for the service you have rendered me to-night I can only return you the thanks of an unhappy woman.”Then she turned from him quickly, and hurried down the path to the park entrance, where shone a single gas lamp, leaving him standing alone, bowing in silence.He watched her graceful figure out of sight, then sighed, and turned away in the opposite direction.A few seconds later the tall, dark figure of a man emerged noiselessly from the deep shadow of the tree where, unobserved, he had crept up and stood concealed. The stranger glanced quickly up and down at the two receding figures, and then at a leisurely pace strode in the direction the Princess had taken.When at last she had turned and was out of sight he halted, took a cigarette from a silver case, lit it after some difficulty in the tearing wind, and muttered some words which, though inaudible, were sufficiently triumphant in tone to show that he was well pleased at his ingenious piece of espionage.
Princess and commoner walked in silence, side by side. The rough night wind blew the dust in their faces, but they bent to it heedlessly, both too full of their own thoughts for words; the man half confused in the presence of the brilliant woman who ere long would be his sovereign; the woman stupefied at the dastardly intrigue that had not only estranged her husband from her, but had for its object the expulsion from the kingdom of herself and her child.
Open-hearted as she was, liberal-minded, pleasant, easy-going, and a delightful companion, she had never sufficiently realised that at that stiff, narrow-minded Court there were men and women who hated her. All of us are so very loth to believe that we have enemies, and more especially those who believe in the honesty and integrity of mankind.
She reflected upon her interview with the Emperor. She remembered his Majesty’s hard words. Had those conspiring against her obtained his ear?
Even De Trauttenberg, the tall, patient, middle-aged woman in whom she had reposed such confidence, was their spy! Steinbach’s story staggered belief. And yet—and yet was not the Emperor’s anger plain proof that he knew something—that a foul plot was really in progress?
Along those dark winding paths they strolled slowly, meeting no one, for the place was utterly deserted. It was an exciting escapade, and dangerous withal.
The man at last broke the silence, saying,—
“I need not impress upon your Imperial Highness the necessity for discretion in this matter. To betray your knowledge of the affair would be to betray me.”
“Trust me,” was her answer. “I know how to keep a secret, and I am not likely to forget this important service you have rendered me.”
“My only regret is that I was unable to approach you months ago, when I first made the discovery. Your Highness would have then been able to avoid the pitfalls constantly set for you,” the man said meaningly.
The Princess Claire bit her lip. She knew to what he referred. She had been foolish, ah yes; very foolish. And he dare not be more explicit.
“Yes,” she sighed. “I know—I know to what you refer. But surely we need not discuss it. Even though I am Crown Princess, I am a woman, after all.”
“I beg your Highness’s pardon,” he exclaimed quickly, fearing that she was annoyed.
“There is nothing to pardon,” was her reply. “You are my friend, and speak to me in my own interests. For that I thank you. Only—only—” she added, “all that you’ve just told me is such a startling revelation. My eyes are opened now. I see the dastardly ingenuity of it all. I know why my husband—”
But she checked herself instantly. No. However ill-treated she had been she would preserve her secret. She would not complain to a commoner at risk of her domestic infelicity going forth to her people.
It was true that within a year of marriage he had thrown her down in her room and kicked her in one of his paroxysms of temper. He had struck her blows innumerable; but she had borne all in patience, and De Trauttenberg had discovered dark marks upon her white shoulders which she had attributed to a fall upon the ice. She saw now the reason of his estrangement; how his sycophants had poisoned his mind against her because they feared her.
“Steinbach,” she said at last, “tell me the truth. What do the people think of me? You are a commoner and live among them. I, imprisoned at Court, unfortunately, know nothing. The opinions of the people never reach us.”
“The people, your Highness, love you. They call you ‘their Claire.’ You surely know how, when you drive out, they raise their hats and shout in acclamation.”
“Yes,” she said in a low, mechanical voice, “but is it real enthusiasm? Would they really love me if I were Queen?”
“Your Highness is at this moment the most popular woman in the whole kingdom of Marburg. If it were known that this plot was in progress there would in all probability be a revolution. Stuhlmann and his friends are hated everywhere, and their overthrow would cause universal satisfaction.”
“And the people do not really think ill of me?”
“Think ill of you, Princess?” he echoed. “Why, they literally worship you and the little Princess Ignatia.”
She was silent again, walking very slowly, and reflecting deeply. It was so seldom she had opportunity of speaking with one of the people unless he were a deputy or a diplomatist, who then put on all his Court manners, was unnatural, and feared to speak. From the man beside her, however, she saw she might learn the truth of a matter which was ever uppermost in her mind. And yet she hesitated to approach what was, after all, a very delicate subject.
Suddenly, with her mind made up, she halted, and turning to him, said,—
“Steinbach, I want you to answer me truthfully. Do not evade the question for fear of annoying me. Speak openly, as the friend you are to me. I wish to know one thing,” and she lowered her voice until it almost faltered. “Have you heard a—well, a scandal concerning myself?”
He made no answer.
She repeated her question; her veiled face turned to his.
“Your Highness only a few moments ago expressed a desire not to discuss the matter,” he replied in a low, distinct voice.
“But I want to know,” she urged. “I must know. Tell me the truth. If you are my friend you will at least be frank with me when I command.”
“If you command, Princess, then I must obey, even with reluctance,” was his response. “Yes. I have heard some gossip. It is spoken openly in Court by thedames du palais, and is now being whispered among the people.”
She held her breath. Fortunately, it was dark, for she knew that her countenance had gone crimson.
“Well?” she asked. “And what do they say of me?”
“They, unfortunately, couple your Highness’s name with that of Count Leitolf, the chief of the private cabinet of his Majesty,” was his low answer.
“Yes,” she said in a toneless voice. “And what more?”
“They say that Major Scheel, attaché at the Embassy in Paris, recognised you driving with the Count in the Avenue de l’Opéra, when you were supposed to be at Aix-les-Bains with the little Princess Ignatia.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“They say, too, that he follows you everywhere—and that your maid Henriette helps you to leave the palace in secret to meet him.”
She heard his words, and her white lips trembled.
“They also declare,” he went on in a low voice, “that your love of the country is only because you are able to meet him without any one knowing, that your journey here to Vienna is on account of him—that he has followed you here.”
She nodded, without uttering a word.
“The Count has, no doubt, followed your Highness, indiscreetly if I may say so, for I recognised him last night dining alone at Breying’s.”
“He did not see you?” she exclaimed anxiously.
“No. I took good care not to be seen. I had no desire that my journey here should be known, or I should be suspected. I return to-night at midnight.”
“And to be frank, Steinbach, you believe that all this has reached my husband’s ears?” she whispered in a hard, strained voice.
“All that is detrimental to your Highness reaches the Crown Prince,” was his reply to the breathless woman, “and certainly not without embellishments. That is why I implore of you to be circumspect—why I am here to tell you of the plot to disgrace you in the people’s eyes.”
“But the people themselves are now speaking of—of the Count?” she said in a low, uncertain voice, quite changed from her previous musical tones when first they met.
“A scandal—and especially a Court one—very soon spreads among the people. The royal servants gossip outside the palace, and moreover your Highness’s many enemies are only too delighted to assist in spreading such reports. It gives motive for the Crown Prince’s estrangement.”
Her head was bent, her hands were trembling. The iron had entered her soul.
The people—the people whom she so dearly loved, and who had waved their hands and shouted those glad welcomes to her as she drove out—were now whispering of Leitolf.
She bit her lip, and her countenance went pale as death as the truth arose before her in all its hideous ghastliness.
Even the man at her side, the humble man who had stood by her as her friend, knew that Leitolf was there—in Vienna—to be near her. Even Steinbach could have no further respect for her as a woman—only respect because she was one day to be his sovereign.
Her hands were clenched; she held her breath, and shivered as the chill wind cut through her. She longed to be back in her father’s palace; to be alone in her room to think.
“And nothing more?” she asked in that same blank voice which now caused her companion to wonder.
“Only that they say evil of you that is not worth repeating,” was his brief answer.
She sighed again, and then when she had sufficiently recovered from the effect of his words, she whispered in a low voice,—
“I—I can only thank you, Steinbach, for giving me this warning. Forgive me if—if I am somewhat upset by it—but I am a woman—and perhaps it is only natural. Trust me to say nothing. Leave Vienna to-night and return home. If you ever wish to communicate with me write guardedly, making an appointment, and address your letter to Madame Emond at the Poste Restante in Brussels. You will recollect the name?”
“Most certainly I shall, your Highness. I can only ask pardon for speaking so openly. But it was at your request.”
“Do not let us mention it further,” she urged, her white lips again compressed. “Leave me now. It is best that I should walk down yonder to the Parkring alone.”
He halted, and bowing low, his hat in his hand, said,—
“I would ask your Imperial Highness to still consider me your humble servant to command in any way whatsoever, and to believe that I am ever ready to serve you and to repay the great debt of gratitude I owe to you.”
And, bending, he took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips in obeisance to the princess who was to be his queen.
“Adieu, Steinbach,” she said in a broken voice. “And for the service you have rendered me to-night I can only return you the thanks of an unhappy woman.”
Then she turned from him quickly, and hurried down the path to the park entrance, where shone a single gas lamp, leaving him standing alone, bowing in silence.
He watched her graceful figure out of sight, then sighed, and turned away in the opposite direction.
A few seconds later the tall, dark figure of a man emerged noiselessly from the deep shadow of the tree where, unobserved, he had crept up and stood concealed. The stranger glanced quickly up and down at the two receding figures, and then at a leisurely pace strode in the direction the Princess had taken.
When at last she had turned and was out of sight he halted, took a cigarette from a silver case, lit it after some difficulty in the tearing wind, and muttered some words which, though inaudible, were sufficiently triumphant in tone to show that he was well pleased at his ingenious piece of espionage.
Chapter Four.His Majesty Cupid.As the twilight fell on the following afternoon a fiacre drew up before the Hotel Imperial, one of the best and most select hotels in the Kartner Ring, in Vienna, and from it descended a lady attired in the deep mourning of a widow.Of the gold-laced concierge she inquired for Count Carl Leitolf, and was at once shown into the lift and conducted to a private sitting-room on the second floor, where a young, fair-moustached, good-looking man, with well-cut, regular features and dark brown eyes, rose quickly as the door opened and the waiter announced her.The moment the door had closed and they were alone he took his visitor’s hand and raised it reverently to his lips, bowing low, with the exquisite grace of the born courtier.In an instant she drew it from him and threw back her veil, revealing her pale, beautiful face—the face of her Imperial Highness the Crown Princess Claire.“Highness!” the man exclaimed, glancing anxiously at the door to reassure himself that it was closed, “I had your note this morning, but—but are you not running too great a risk by coming here? I could not reply, fearing that my letter might fall into other hands; otherwise I would on no account have allowed you to come. You may have been followed. There are, as you know, spies everywhere.”“I have come, Carl, because I wish to speak to you,” she said, looking unflinchingly into his handsome face. “I wish to know by what right you have followed me here—to Vienna?”He drew back in surprise, for her attitude was entirely unexpected.“I came here upon my own private affairs,” he answered.“That is not the truth,” she declared in quick resentment. “You are here because you believed that you might meet me at the reception after the State dinner to-night. You applied for a card for it in order that you could see me—and this, after what passed between us the other day! Do you consider that you are treating me fairly? Cannot you see that your constant attentions are compromising me and causing people to talk?”“And what, pray, does your Imperial Highness care for this idle Court gossip?” asked the well-dressed, athletic-looking man, at the same time placing a chair for her and bowing her to it. “There has been enough of it already, and you have always expressed the utmost disregard of anything that might be said, or any stories that might be invented.”“I know,” she answered. “But this injudicious action of yours in following me here is utter madness. It places me in peril. You are known in Vienna, remember.”“Then if that is your view, your Highness, I can only apologise,” he said most humbly. “I will admit that I came here in order to be able to get a few minutes’ conversation with you to-night. At our Court at home you know how very difficult it is for me to speak with you, for the sharp eye of the Trauttenberg is ever upon you.”The Princess’s arched brows contracted slightly. She recollected what Steinbach had revealed to her regarding her lady-in-waiting.“And it is surely best that you should have difficulty in approaching me,” she said. “I have not forgotten your foolish journey to Paris, where I had gone incognito to see my old nurse, and how you compelled me to go out and see the sights in your company. We were recognised. Do you know that?” she exclaimed in a hard voice. “A man who knew us both sent word to Court that we were in Paris together.”“Recognised!” he gasped, the colour fading instantly from his face. “Who saw us?”“Of his identity I’m not aware,” she answered, for she was a clever diplomatist, and could keep a secret well. She did not reveal Scheel’s name. “I only know that our meeting in Paris is no secret. They suspect me, and I have you to thank for whatever scandal may now be invented concerning us.”The lithe, clean-limbed man was silent, his head bent before her. What could he reply? He knew, alas! too well, that in following her from Germany to Paris he had acted very injudiciously. She was believed to be taking the baths at Aix, but a sudden caprice had seized her to run up to Paris and see her old French nurse, to whom she was much attached. He had learnt her intention in confidence, and had met her in Paris and shown her the city. It had been an indiscretion, he admitted.Yet the recollection of those few delightful days of freedom remained like a pleasant dream. He recollected her childish delight of it all. It was out of the season, and they believed that they could go hither and thither, like the crowds of tourists do, without fear of recognition. Yet Fate, it seemed, had been against them, and their secret meeting was actually known!“Cannot you see the foolishness of it all?” she asked in a low, serious voice. “Cannot you see, Carl, that your presence here lends colour to their suspicions? I have enemies—fierce, bitter enemies—as you must know too well, and yet you imperil me like this!” she cried reproachfully.“I can make no defence, Princess,” he said lamely. “I can only regret deeply having caused you any annoyance.”“Annoyance!” she echoed in anger. “Your injudicious actions have placed me in the greatest peril. The people have coupled our names, and you are known to have followed me on here.”Her companion was silent, his eyes downcast, as though not daring to meet her reproachful gaze.“I have been foolish—very foolish, I know,” she cried. “In the old days, when we knew each other at Wartenstein, a boy-and-girl affection sprang up between us; and then, when you left the University, they sent you as attaché to the Embassy in London, and we gradually forgot each other. You grew tired of diplomacy, and returned to find me the wife of the Crown Prince; and in a thoughtless moment I promised, at your request, to recommend you to a post in the private cabinet of the King. Since that day I have always regretted. I ought never to have allowed you to return. I am as much to blame as you are, for it was an entirely false step. Yet how was I to know?”“True, my Princess!” said the man in a low, choking voice. “How were you to know that I still loved you in silence, that I was aware of the secret of your domestic unhappiness, that I—”“Enough!” she cried, drawing herself up. “The word love surely need not be spoken between us. I know it all, alas! Yet I beg of you to remember that I am the wife of another, and a woman of honour.”“Ah yes,” he exclaimed, his trembling hand resting on the back of the chair upon which she sat. “Honour—yes. I love you, Claire—you surely know that well. But we do not speak of it; it is a subject not to be discussed by us. Day after day, unable to speak to you, I watch you in silence. I know your bitterness in that gilded prison they call the Court, and long always to help you and rescue you from that—that man to whom you are, alas! wedded. It is all so horrible, so loathsome, that I recoil when I see him smiling upon you while at heart he hates you. For weeks, since last we spoke together, how I have lived I scarcely know—utter despair, insane hopes alternately possess me—but at last the day came, and I followed you here to speak with you, my Princess.”She remained silent, somewhat embarrassed, as he took her gloved hand and again kissed it.She was nervous, but next instant determined.“Alas! I have not failed to notice your strong affection for me, Carl,” she said with a heavy sigh, her beautiful face slightly flushed. “You must therefore control this passion that seems to have been rekindled within your heart. For my sake go, and forget me,” she implored. “Resign your appointment, and re-enter the diplomatic service of the Emperor. I will speak to Lindenau, who will give you an appointment, say, in Rome or Paris. But you must not remain at Treysa. I—I will not allow it.”“But, Princess,” he cried in dismay, “I cannot go and leave you there alone among your enemies. You—”“You must; for, unintentionally, because you have my interests at heart, you are my worst enemy. You are indiscreet, just as every man is who loves a woman truly.”“Then you really believe I love you still, Claire,” he cried, bending towards her. “You remember those delightfully happy days at Wartenstein long ago, when—”She held up her hand to stop the flow of his words.He looked at her. For an instant her glance wavered and shrank.She was his idol, the beautiful idol with eyes like heaven.Yes, she was very beautiful—beautiful with all the beauty of woman now, not with the beauty of the girl.And she, with her sad gaze fixed upon him, remembered all the past—the great old castle in the far-off Tyrol, her laughter at his awkwardness; their chats in English when both were learning that language; the quarrel over the lilac blossom. At Arcachon—the shore and the pine forest; the boyish kiss stolen under the mistletoe; the declaration of their young love on that lonely mountain-side with the world lying at their feet; the long, sweet, silent kisses exchanged on their homeward walk; the roses she had given him as farewell pledge when he had left for London.All had gone—gone for ever.Nevertheless, though everything was past, she could not resist an impulse to recall it—oh, very briefly—in a few feeling words, as one may recall some sweet and rapturous dream.“We were very foolish,” she said.He was silent. His heart was too full for words. He knew that a woman who can look back on the past—on rapture, delight, the first thrilling kiss, the first fervent vow—and say, “We were very foolish,” is a woman changed beyond recall.In other days, had he heard such sacrilegious words a cry of horror would have sprung from his lips. But now, though he shuddered with anguish, he simply said,—“I shall always remember it, Princess;” adding, with a glance at her, “and you.”Her wonderful eyes shrank once more and her lips quivered, as though for one second touched again by the light wing of love—as if, indeed, she felt she had done something unworthy of her, something which might bring her regret hereafter.In the midst of his confusion, the man remained victorious. She would never be his, and yet she would be his for ever. No matter how she might strive, she would never entirely forget.She sighed, and rising, walked unsteadily to the window, where, below, the street lamps were just being lit. Daylight had faded, and in the room it was almost dark.“To-night, Carl, we meet for the last time,” she said with an effort, in a hard, strained voice. “Both for you and for me it is best that we should part and forget. I did wrong to recommend you to the post at Court, and I ought to have foreseen the grave peril of the situation. Fortunately, I have realised it in time, even though our enemies already believe ill and invent lies concerning us. You must not return to Court. Remember, I forbid you. To-night, at the State dinner, I will speak to Lindenau and ask him to send you as attaché to Rome or to Petersburg. It is the wisest course.”“Then your Highness really intends to banish me?” he said hoarsely, in a low, broken voice of reproach.“Yes,” she faltered. “I—I must—Carl—to—to save myself.”“But you are cruel—very cruel—Princess,” he cried, his voice trembling with emotion.“You must realise my peril,” she said seriously. “Your presence at Court increases my danger hourly, because”—and she hesitated—“because, Carl, I confess to you that I do not forget—I never shall forget,” she added as the tears sprang to her blue eyes. “Therefore, go! Let me bear my own burden as best I can alone, and let me remember you as what you have always been—chivalrous to an unhappy woman; a man of honour.”Slowly she moved across the room towards the door, but he arrested her progress, and took her small hand quickly in his grasp.For some moments, in the falling gloom, he looked into her sweet, tearful face without speaking; then crushing down the lump that arose in his throat, he raised to his hot, passionate lips the hand of the woman he loved, and, imprinting upon it a tender, lingering kiss, murmured,—“Adieu, Claire—my Princess—my first, my only love!” She drew her hand away as his passionate words fell upon her ear, sighed heavily, and in silence opened the door and passed out from his presence.And thus were two brave hearts torn asunder.
As the twilight fell on the following afternoon a fiacre drew up before the Hotel Imperial, one of the best and most select hotels in the Kartner Ring, in Vienna, and from it descended a lady attired in the deep mourning of a widow.
Of the gold-laced concierge she inquired for Count Carl Leitolf, and was at once shown into the lift and conducted to a private sitting-room on the second floor, where a young, fair-moustached, good-looking man, with well-cut, regular features and dark brown eyes, rose quickly as the door opened and the waiter announced her.
The moment the door had closed and they were alone he took his visitor’s hand and raised it reverently to his lips, bowing low, with the exquisite grace of the born courtier.
In an instant she drew it from him and threw back her veil, revealing her pale, beautiful face—the face of her Imperial Highness the Crown Princess Claire.
“Highness!” the man exclaimed, glancing anxiously at the door to reassure himself that it was closed, “I had your note this morning, but—but are you not running too great a risk by coming here? I could not reply, fearing that my letter might fall into other hands; otherwise I would on no account have allowed you to come. You may have been followed. There are, as you know, spies everywhere.”
“I have come, Carl, because I wish to speak to you,” she said, looking unflinchingly into his handsome face. “I wish to know by what right you have followed me here—to Vienna?”
He drew back in surprise, for her attitude was entirely unexpected.
“I came here upon my own private affairs,” he answered.
“That is not the truth,” she declared in quick resentment. “You are here because you believed that you might meet me at the reception after the State dinner to-night. You applied for a card for it in order that you could see me—and this, after what passed between us the other day! Do you consider that you are treating me fairly? Cannot you see that your constant attentions are compromising me and causing people to talk?”
“And what, pray, does your Imperial Highness care for this idle Court gossip?” asked the well-dressed, athletic-looking man, at the same time placing a chair for her and bowing her to it. “There has been enough of it already, and you have always expressed the utmost disregard of anything that might be said, or any stories that might be invented.”
“I know,” she answered. “But this injudicious action of yours in following me here is utter madness. It places me in peril. You are known in Vienna, remember.”
“Then if that is your view, your Highness, I can only apologise,” he said most humbly. “I will admit that I came here in order to be able to get a few minutes’ conversation with you to-night. At our Court at home you know how very difficult it is for me to speak with you, for the sharp eye of the Trauttenberg is ever upon you.”
The Princess’s arched brows contracted slightly. She recollected what Steinbach had revealed to her regarding her lady-in-waiting.
“And it is surely best that you should have difficulty in approaching me,” she said. “I have not forgotten your foolish journey to Paris, where I had gone incognito to see my old nurse, and how you compelled me to go out and see the sights in your company. We were recognised. Do you know that?” she exclaimed in a hard voice. “A man who knew us both sent word to Court that we were in Paris together.”
“Recognised!” he gasped, the colour fading instantly from his face. “Who saw us?”
“Of his identity I’m not aware,” she answered, for she was a clever diplomatist, and could keep a secret well. She did not reveal Scheel’s name. “I only know that our meeting in Paris is no secret. They suspect me, and I have you to thank for whatever scandal may now be invented concerning us.”
The lithe, clean-limbed man was silent, his head bent before her. What could he reply? He knew, alas! too well, that in following her from Germany to Paris he had acted very injudiciously. She was believed to be taking the baths at Aix, but a sudden caprice had seized her to run up to Paris and see her old French nurse, to whom she was much attached. He had learnt her intention in confidence, and had met her in Paris and shown her the city. It had been an indiscretion, he admitted.
Yet the recollection of those few delightful days of freedom remained like a pleasant dream. He recollected her childish delight of it all. It was out of the season, and they believed that they could go hither and thither, like the crowds of tourists do, without fear of recognition. Yet Fate, it seemed, had been against them, and their secret meeting was actually known!
“Cannot you see the foolishness of it all?” she asked in a low, serious voice. “Cannot you see, Carl, that your presence here lends colour to their suspicions? I have enemies—fierce, bitter enemies—as you must know too well, and yet you imperil me like this!” she cried reproachfully.
“I can make no defence, Princess,” he said lamely. “I can only regret deeply having caused you any annoyance.”
“Annoyance!” she echoed in anger. “Your injudicious actions have placed me in the greatest peril. The people have coupled our names, and you are known to have followed me on here.”
Her companion was silent, his eyes downcast, as though not daring to meet her reproachful gaze.
“I have been foolish—very foolish, I know,” she cried. “In the old days, when we knew each other at Wartenstein, a boy-and-girl affection sprang up between us; and then, when you left the University, they sent you as attaché to the Embassy in London, and we gradually forgot each other. You grew tired of diplomacy, and returned to find me the wife of the Crown Prince; and in a thoughtless moment I promised, at your request, to recommend you to a post in the private cabinet of the King. Since that day I have always regretted. I ought never to have allowed you to return. I am as much to blame as you are, for it was an entirely false step. Yet how was I to know?”
“True, my Princess!” said the man in a low, choking voice. “How were you to know that I still loved you in silence, that I was aware of the secret of your domestic unhappiness, that I—”
“Enough!” she cried, drawing herself up. “The word love surely need not be spoken between us. I know it all, alas! Yet I beg of you to remember that I am the wife of another, and a woman of honour.”
“Ah yes,” he exclaimed, his trembling hand resting on the back of the chair upon which she sat. “Honour—yes. I love you, Claire—you surely know that well. But we do not speak of it; it is a subject not to be discussed by us. Day after day, unable to speak to you, I watch you in silence. I know your bitterness in that gilded prison they call the Court, and long always to help you and rescue you from that—that man to whom you are, alas! wedded. It is all so horrible, so loathsome, that I recoil when I see him smiling upon you while at heart he hates you. For weeks, since last we spoke together, how I have lived I scarcely know—utter despair, insane hopes alternately possess me—but at last the day came, and I followed you here to speak with you, my Princess.”
She remained silent, somewhat embarrassed, as he took her gloved hand and again kissed it.
She was nervous, but next instant determined.
“Alas! I have not failed to notice your strong affection for me, Carl,” she said with a heavy sigh, her beautiful face slightly flushed. “You must therefore control this passion that seems to have been rekindled within your heart. For my sake go, and forget me,” she implored. “Resign your appointment, and re-enter the diplomatic service of the Emperor. I will speak to Lindenau, who will give you an appointment, say, in Rome or Paris. But you must not remain at Treysa. I—I will not allow it.”
“But, Princess,” he cried in dismay, “I cannot go and leave you there alone among your enemies. You—”
“You must; for, unintentionally, because you have my interests at heart, you are my worst enemy. You are indiscreet, just as every man is who loves a woman truly.”
“Then you really believe I love you still, Claire,” he cried, bending towards her. “You remember those delightfully happy days at Wartenstein long ago, when—”
She held up her hand to stop the flow of his words.
He looked at her. For an instant her glance wavered and shrank.
She was his idol, the beautiful idol with eyes like heaven.
Yes, she was very beautiful—beautiful with all the beauty of woman now, not with the beauty of the girl.
And she, with her sad gaze fixed upon him, remembered all the past—the great old castle in the far-off Tyrol, her laughter at his awkwardness; their chats in English when both were learning that language; the quarrel over the lilac blossom. At Arcachon—the shore and the pine forest; the boyish kiss stolen under the mistletoe; the declaration of their young love on that lonely mountain-side with the world lying at their feet; the long, sweet, silent kisses exchanged on their homeward walk; the roses she had given him as farewell pledge when he had left for London.
All had gone—gone for ever.
Nevertheless, though everything was past, she could not resist an impulse to recall it—oh, very briefly—in a few feeling words, as one may recall some sweet and rapturous dream.
“We were very foolish,” she said.
He was silent. His heart was too full for words. He knew that a woman who can look back on the past—on rapture, delight, the first thrilling kiss, the first fervent vow—and say, “We were very foolish,” is a woman changed beyond recall.
In other days, had he heard such sacrilegious words a cry of horror would have sprung from his lips. But now, though he shuddered with anguish, he simply said,—
“I shall always remember it, Princess;” adding, with a glance at her, “and you.”
Her wonderful eyes shrank once more and her lips quivered, as though for one second touched again by the light wing of love—as if, indeed, she felt she had done something unworthy of her, something which might bring her regret hereafter.
In the midst of his confusion, the man remained victorious. She would never be his, and yet she would be his for ever. No matter how she might strive, she would never entirely forget.
She sighed, and rising, walked unsteadily to the window, where, below, the street lamps were just being lit. Daylight had faded, and in the room it was almost dark.
“To-night, Carl, we meet for the last time,” she said with an effort, in a hard, strained voice. “Both for you and for me it is best that we should part and forget. I did wrong to recommend you to the post at Court, and I ought to have foreseen the grave peril of the situation. Fortunately, I have realised it in time, even though our enemies already believe ill and invent lies concerning us. You must not return to Court. Remember, I forbid you. To-night, at the State dinner, I will speak to Lindenau and ask him to send you as attaché to Rome or to Petersburg. It is the wisest course.”
“Then your Highness really intends to banish me?” he said hoarsely, in a low, broken voice of reproach.
“Yes,” she faltered. “I—I must—Carl—to—to save myself.”
“But you are cruel—very cruel—Princess,” he cried, his voice trembling with emotion.
“You must realise my peril,” she said seriously. “Your presence at Court increases my danger hourly, because”—and she hesitated—“because, Carl, I confess to you that I do not forget—I never shall forget,” she added as the tears sprang to her blue eyes. “Therefore, go! Let me bear my own burden as best I can alone, and let me remember you as what you have always been—chivalrous to an unhappy woman; a man of honour.”
Slowly she moved across the room towards the door, but he arrested her progress, and took her small hand quickly in his grasp.
For some moments, in the falling gloom, he looked into her sweet, tearful face without speaking; then crushing down the lump that arose in his throat, he raised to his hot, passionate lips the hand of the woman he loved, and, imprinting upon it a tender, lingering kiss, murmured,—
“Adieu, Claire—my Princess—my first, my only love!” She drew her hand away as his passionate words fell upon her ear, sighed heavily, and in silence opened the door and passed out from his presence.
And thus were two brave hearts torn asunder.
Chapter Five.Some Suspicions.State dinners, those long, tedious affairs at which the conversation is always stilted and the bearing of everybody is stiff and unnatural, always bored the Crown Princess Claire to death.Whenever she could she escaped them; but as a Crown Princess she was compelled by Court etiquette to undergo ordeals which, to a woman not educated as an Imperial Archduchess, would have been impossible. She had trained herself to sit for hours smiling and good-humoured, although at heart she hated all that glittering formality and rich display. There were times when at her own Court at Treysa, at the military anniversary dinners that were so often held, she had been compelled to sit at table with her husband and the guests for four and five hours on end, without showing any sign of fatigue beyond taking her smelling-salts from the hand of her lady-in-waiting. Yet she never complained, though the eating, and more especially the drinking, disgusted her. It was a duty—one of the many wearisome, soul-killing duties which devolve upon a Crown Princess—of which the world at large is in utter ignorance. Therefore she accepted it in silence, yet bored always by meeting and speaking with the same circle of people day after day—a small circle which was ever intriguing, ever consumed by its own jealousies, ever striving for the favour of the aged king; the narrow-minded little world within the Palace who treated those outside as though of different flesh and blood to themselves.Whether at a marriage, at a funeral, at the opera, at a review, or at a charityfête—everywhere where her Court duties called her—she met the same people, she heard the same interminable chatter and the same shameful scandals, until, unhappy in her own domestic life, she had grown to loathe it all, and to long for that liberty of which she had dreamed when a girl at her father’s castle at Wartenstein, or at the great old Residenz-Schloss, or palace, at Pressburg.Yet what liberty could she, heiress to a throne, obtain; what, indeed, within her husband’s Court, a circle who dined at five o’clock and were iron-bound by etiquette?The State dinner at the Imperial palace that night differed but little from any other State dinner—long, dull, and extremely uninteresting. Given in honour of a Swedish Prince who was at the moment the guest of the Emperor, there were present the usual circle of Imperial Archdukes and Archduchesses, who after dinner were joined in the great reception-room by the Ministers of State, the British, French, and Italian Ambassadors, the Swedish Minister and the whole staff of the Swedish Embassy in the Schwindgasse. Every one was in uniform and wore his orders, the Emperor himself standing at the end of the room, chatting with his young guest in French.The Crown Princess Claire, a striking figure in turquoise chiffon, was standing near, discussing Leoncavallo’s new opera with her cousin, the Princess Marie of Bourbon, who had arrived only a few days before from Madrid. Suddenly her eye caught the figure she had all the evening been in Search of.Count de Lindenau, Privy Councillor, Chamberlain, Minister of the Imperial Household, and Minister for Foreign Affairs of the Austrian Empire—a short, rather stout, bald-headed man, with heavy white moustache, with the crimson ribbon of the Order of Saint Stephen of Hungary across his shirt-front and the Grand Cross in brilliants upon his coat—stopped to bow low before the Crown Princess, who in an instant seized the opportunity to leave her cousin and speak with him.“It is really quite a long time since we met, Count,” she exclaimed pleasantly. “I met the Countess at Cannes in January, and was delighted to see her so much better. Is she quite well again?”“I thank your Imperial Highness,” responded the Minister. “The Countess has completely recovered. At present she is at Como. And you? Here for a long stay in Vienna, I hope. We always regret that you have left us, you know,” he added, smiling, for she had, ever since a girl, been friendly with him, and had often visited his wife at their castle at Mauthhausen.“No; I regret that I must return to Treysa in a few days,” she said as she moved along and he strolled at her side down the great gilded room where the little groups were standing gossiping. Then, when his Excellency had asked after the health of the Crown Prince and of the little Princess Ignatia, she drew him aside to a spot where they could not be overheard, and halting, said in a lower tone,—“I have wished to meet you, Count, because I want you to do me a favour.”“Your Imperial Highness knows quite well that if I can serve you in any way I am always only too delighted.” And he bowed.More than once she had asked favour of Lindenau, the stern Foreign Minister and favourite of the Emperor, and he had always acted as she wished. She had known him ever since her birth. He had, indeed, been present at her baptism.“Well, it is this,” she said. “I want to give my recommendation to you on behalf of Count Leitolf, who is at present chief of the King’s private cabinet at Treysa, and who is strongly desirous of returning to the Austrian diplomatic service, and is anxious for a post abroad.” Mention of Leitolf’s name caused the wily old Minister to glance at her quickly. The rumour had reached his ears, and in an instant he recognised the situation—the Crown Princess wished to rid herself of him. But the old fellow was diplomatic, and said, as though compelled to recall the name,—“Leitolf? Let me see. That is Count Carl, whom I sent to London a few years ago? He resigned his post to take service under your father-in-law the King. Ah yes, I quite recollect. And he now wishes to be appointed abroad again, eh? And you wish to recommend him?”“Exactly, Count,” she answered. “I think that Leitolf is tired of our Court; he finds it too dull. He would prefer Rome, he tells me.”“Your Imperial Highness is well aware that any recommendation of yours always has the most earnest attention,” said the Minister, with a polite bow. His quick grey eyes were watching the beautiful woman sharply. He wondered what had occurred between her and Count Carl.“Then you will send him to Rome?” she asked, unable to conceal her eagerness.“If he will present himself at the Ministry, he will be at once appointed to the Embassy to the Quirinal,” responded his Excellency quietly.“But he will not present himself, I am afraid.”“Oh, why not?” inquired the great Austrian diplomatist, regarding her in surprise.“Because—” and she hesitated, as a slight flush crossed her features—“because he is rather ashamed to ask for a second appointment, having resigned from London.”The old Minister smiled dubiously.“Ah!” he exclaimed confidentially, “I quite understand. Your Imperial Highness wishes to get rid of him from your Court, eh?”The Princess started, twisting her diamond bracelet nervously round her wrist.“Why do you think that, Count?” she asked quickly, surprised that he should have thus divined her motive.“Well, your Imperial Highness is rather unduly interested in the man—if you will permit me to say so,” was his answer. “Besides, if I may speak frankly, as I know I may, I have regarded his presence in your Court as distinctly dangerous—for you. There are, you know, evil tongues ever ready to invent scandal, even against a Crown Princess.”“I know,” she said, in a low, changed voice. “But let us walk; otherwise they will all wonder why I am talking with you so long,” and the two moved slowly along side by side. “I know,” she went on—“I know that I have enemies; and, to confess the truth, I wish, in order to show them that they lie, to send him from me.”“Then he shall go. To-morrow I will send him orders to rejoin the service, and to proceed to Rome immediately. And,” he added in a kindly voice, “I can only congratulate your Imperial Highness upon your forethought. Leitolf is entirely without discretion. Only this evening I was actually told that he had followed you to Vienna, and—”But he stopped abruptly, without concluding his sentence. “And what else?” she asked, turning pale. Even the Minister knew; therefore Leitolf had evidently allowed himself to be seen.“Shall I tell you, Princess?”“Certainly; you need not keep anything from me.”“I was also told that he is staying at the Hotel Imperial, and that you had called upon him this afternoon.” She started, and looked him straight in the face.“Who told you that?” she demanded.“I learned it from the report of the secret agents of the Ministry.”“Then I am spied upon here!” she exclaimed, pale with anger. “Even in my own home watch is kept upon me.”“Not upon your Imperial Highness,” was the great Minister’s calm reply, “but upon the man we have recently been discussing. It was, I venture to think, rather indiscreet of you to go to the hotel; although, of course, the knowledge of your visit is confidential, and goes no further than myself. It is a secret of the Ministry.”“Indiscreet!” she echoed with a sigh. “In this polluted atmosphere, to breathe freely is to be indiscreet. Because I am an Archduchess I am fettered as a prisoner, and watched like a criminal under surveillance. My enemies, jealous of my position and power, have invented scandalous stories that have aroused suspicion, and for that reason you all believe ill of me.”“Pardon me, Princess,” said the crafty old man, bowing, “I, for one, do not. Your anxiety to rid yourself of the fellow is proof to me that the scandal is a pure invention, and I am only too pleased to render you this service. Your real enemies are those around your husband, who have hinted and lied regarding you in order to estrange you from Court.”“Then you are really my friend, Count?” she asked anxiously. “You do not believe what they say regarding me?”“I do not, Princess,” he replied frankly; “and I trust you will still regard me, as I hope I have ever been, your Imperial Highness’s friend. I know full well how Leitolf craved your favour for recommendation to your King; and you, with a woman’s blindness to the grave eventualities of the future, secured him the appointment. Of late you have, I suppose, realised the fatal mistake?”“Yes,” she said in a low voice; “I have now foreseen my own peril. I have been very foolish; but I have halted, and Leitolf must go.”“Very wise—very wise indeed! Your Imperial Highness cannot afford to run any further risk. In a few months, or a couple of years at most, the poor King’s disease must prove fatal, and you will find yourself Queen of a brilliant kingdom. Once Queen, your position will be assured, and you will make short work of all those who have conspired to secure your downfall. You will, perhaps, require assistance. If so, rely upon me to render you in secret whatever help lies in my power. With you, a Hapsbourg, as Queen, the influence of Austria must be paramount, remember. Therefore I beg of your Imperial Highness to exercise the greatest discretion not to imperil yourself. The Crown Prince must be allowed no loophole through which he can openly quarrel with you. Remain patient and forbearing until you are Queen.”They were in a corner of the great hall, standing behind one of the high marble columns and unobserved.“I am always patient, Count,” was her rather sad response, her chest heaving beneath her chiffon. “As you well know, my marriage has not been a happy one; but I strive to do my duty to both the Court and the people. I make no denial to you. You doubtless know the truth—that when a girl I loved Count Leitolf, and that it was an act prompted by foolish sentimentalism to have connived at his appointment at my husband’s own Court. Betrayed, perhaps, by my own actions, my enemies have seized upon my embarrassing situation to lie about me. Ah,” she added bitterly, “how little they know of my own dire unhappiness!”“No, no,” urged the Minister, seemingly full of sympathy for her, knowing the truth as he did. “Bear up; put a brave countenance always towards the world. When Leitolf has gone your Imperial Highness will have less embarrassment, and people cannot then place any misconstructions upon your actions. You will not have the foolish young man following you wherever you go, as he now does. At noon to-morrow I will sign the decree for his immediate appointment to Rome, and he will receive but little leave of absence, I can assure you. He will be as much a prisoner in the Palazzo Chigi as is his Holiness in the Vatican,” he added.“Thank you,” she answered simply, glancing gratefully into his grey, deeply-lined face; and as he bowed to her she left him and swept up the room to where the Emperor was engaged in conversation with Lord Powerstock, the British Ambassador.The old Minister’s face had changed the instant he left her. The mask of the courtier had fallen from the wily old countenance, and glancing after her, he muttered some words that were inaudible.If she had but seen the evil smile that played about the old diplomatist’s lips, she would have detected that his intention was to play her false, and she might then have saved herself.But, alas! in her ignorance she went on light-heartedly, her long train sweeping behind her, believing in De Lindenau’s well-feigned sympathy, and congratulating herself that the all-powerful personage behind the Emperor was still her friend.The Minister saw that she was satisfied; then turning on his heel, he gave vent to a short, hard laugh of triumph.
State dinners, those long, tedious affairs at which the conversation is always stilted and the bearing of everybody is stiff and unnatural, always bored the Crown Princess Claire to death.
Whenever she could she escaped them; but as a Crown Princess she was compelled by Court etiquette to undergo ordeals which, to a woman not educated as an Imperial Archduchess, would have been impossible. She had trained herself to sit for hours smiling and good-humoured, although at heart she hated all that glittering formality and rich display. There were times when at her own Court at Treysa, at the military anniversary dinners that were so often held, she had been compelled to sit at table with her husband and the guests for four and five hours on end, without showing any sign of fatigue beyond taking her smelling-salts from the hand of her lady-in-waiting. Yet she never complained, though the eating, and more especially the drinking, disgusted her. It was a duty—one of the many wearisome, soul-killing duties which devolve upon a Crown Princess—of which the world at large is in utter ignorance. Therefore she accepted it in silence, yet bored always by meeting and speaking with the same circle of people day after day—a small circle which was ever intriguing, ever consumed by its own jealousies, ever striving for the favour of the aged king; the narrow-minded little world within the Palace who treated those outside as though of different flesh and blood to themselves.
Whether at a marriage, at a funeral, at the opera, at a review, or at a charityfête—everywhere where her Court duties called her—she met the same people, she heard the same interminable chatter and the same shameful scandals, until, unhappy in her own domestic life, she had grown to loathe it all, and to long for that liberty of which she had dreamed when a girl at her father’s castle at Wartenstein, or at the great old Residenz-Schloss, or palace, at Pressburg.
Yet what liberty could she, heiress to a throne, obtain; what, indeed, within her husband’s Court, a circle who dined at five o’clock and were iron-bound by etiquette?
The State dinner at the Imperial palace that night differed but little from any other State dinner—long, dull, and extremely uninteresting. Given in honour of a Swedish Prince who was at the moment the guest of the Emperor, there were present the usual circle of Imperial Archdukes and Archduchesses, who after dinner were joined in the great reception-room by the Ministers of State, the British, French, and Italian Ambassadors, the Swedish Minister and the whole staff of the Swedish Embassy in the Schwindgasse. Every one was in uniform and wore his orders, the Emperor himself standing at the end of the room, chatting with his young guest in French.
The Crown Princess Claire, a striking figure in turquoise chiffon, was standing near, discussing Leoncavallo’s new opera with her cousin, the Princess Marie of Bourbon, who had arrived only a few days before from Madrid. Suddenly her eye caught the figure she had all the evening been in Search of.
Count de Lindenau, Privy Councillor, Chamberlain, Minister of the Imperial Household, and Minister for Foreign Affairs of the Austrian Empire—a short, rather stout, bald-headed man, with heavy white moustache, with the crimson ribbon of the Order of Saint Stephen of Hungary across his shirt-front and the Grand Cross in brilliants upon his coat—stopped to bow low before the Crown Princess, who in an instant seized the opportunity to leave her cousin and speak with him.
“It is really quite a long time since we met, Count,” she exclaimed pleasantly. “I met the Countess at Cannes in January, and was delighted to see her so much better. Is she quite well again?”
“I thank your Imperial Highness,” responded the Minister. “The Countess has completely recovered. At present she is at Como. And you? Here for a long stay in Vienna, I hope. We always regret that you have left us, you know,” he added, smiling, for she had, ever since a girl, been friendly with him, and had often visited his wife at their castle at Mauthhausen.
“No; I regret that I must return to Treysa in a few days,” she said as she moved along and he strolled at her side down the great gilded room where the little groups were standing gossiping. Then, when his Excellency had asked after the health of the Crown Prince and of the little Princess Ignatia, she drew him aside to a spot where they could not be overheard, and halting, said in a lower tone,—
“I have wished to meet you, Count, because I want you to do me a favour.”
“Your Imperial Highness knows quite well that if I can serve you in any way I am always only too delighted.” And he bowed.
More than once she had asked favour of Lindenau, the stern Foreign Minister and favourite of the Emperor, and he had always acted as she wished. She had known him ever since her birth. He had, indeed, been present at her baptism.
“Well, it is this,” she said. “I want to give my recommendation to you on behalf of Count Leitolf, who is at present chief of the King’s private cabinet at Treysa, and who is strongly desirous of returning to the Austrian diplomatic service, and is anxious for a post abroad.” Mention of Leitolf’s name caused the wily old Minister to glance at her quickly. The rumour had reached his ears, and in an instant he recognised the situation—the Crown Princess wished to rid herself of him. But the old fellow was diplomatic, and said, as though compelled to recall the name,—
“Leitolf? Let me see. That is Count Carl, whom I sent to London a few years ago? He resigned his post to take service under your father-in-law the King. Ah yes, I quite recollect. And he now wishes to be appointed abroad again, eh? And you wish to recommend him?”
“Exactly, Count,” she answered. “I think that Leitolf is tired of our Court; he finds it too dull. He would prefer Rome, he tells me.”
“Your Imperial Highness is well aware that any recommendation of yours always has the most earnest attention,” said the Minister, with a polite bow. His quick grey eyes were watching the beautiful woman sharply. He wondered what had occurred between her and Count Carl.
“Then you will send him to Rome?” she asked, unable to conceal her eagerness.
“If he will present himself at the Ministry, he will be at once appointed to the Embassy to the Quirinal,” responded his Excellency quietly.
“But he will not present himself, I am afraid.”
“Oh, why not?” inquired the great Austrian diplomatist, regarding her in surprise.
“Because—” and she hesitated, as a slight flush crossed her features—“because he is rather ashamed to ask for a second appointment, having resigned from London.”
The old Minister smiled dubiously.
“Ah!” he exclaimed confidentially, “I quite understand. Your Imperial Highness wishes to get rid of him from your Court, eh?”
The Princess started, twisting her diamond bracelet nervously round her wrist.
“Why do you think that, Count?” she asked quickly, surprised that he should have thus divined her motive.
“Well, your Imperial Highness is rather unduly interested in the man—if you will permit me to say so,” was his answer. “Besides, if I may speak frankly, as I know I may, I have regarded his presence in your Court as distinctly dangerous—for you. There are, you know, evil tongues ever ready to invent scandal, even against a Crown Princess.”
“I know,” she said, in a low, changed voice. “But let us walk; otherwise they will all wonder why I am talking with you so long,” and the two moved slowly along side by side. “I know,” she went on—“I know that I have enemies; and, to confess the truth, I wish, in order to show them that they lie, to send him from me.”
“Then he shall go. To-morrow I will send him orders to rejoin the service, and to proceed to Rome immediately. And,” he added in a kindly voice, “I can only congratulate your Imperial Highness upon your forethought. Leitolf is entirely without discretion. Only this evening I was actually told that he had followed you to Vienna, and—”
But he stopped abruptly, without concluding his sentence. “And what else?” she asked, turning pale. Even the Minister knew; therefore Leitolf had evidently allowed himself to be seen.
“Shall I tell you, Princess?”
“Certainly; you need not keep anything from me.”
“I was also told that he is staying at the Hotel Imperial, and that you had called upon him this afternoon.” She started, and looked him straight in the face.
“Who told you that?” she demanded.
“I learned it from the report of the secret agents of the Ministry.”
“Then I am spied upon here!” she exclaimed, pale with anger. “Even in my own home watch is kept upon me.”
“Not upon your Imperial Highness,” was the great Minister’s calm reply, “but upon the man we have recently been discussing. It was, I venture to think, rather indiscreet of you to go to the hotel; although, of course, the knowledge of your visit is confidential, and goes no further than myself. It is a secret of the Ministry.”
“Indiscreet!” she echoed with a sigh. “In this polluted atmosphere, to breathe freely is to be indiscreet. Because I am an Archduchess I am fettered as a prisoner, and watched like a criminal under surveillance. My enemies, jealous of my position and power, have invented scandalous stories that have aroused suspicion, and for that reason you all believe ill of me.”
“Pardon me, Princess,” said the crafty old man, bowing, “I, for one, do not. Your anxiety to rid yourself of the fellow is proof to me that the scandal is a pure invention, and I am only too pleased to render you this service. Your real enemies are those around your husband, who have hinted and lied regarding you in order to estrange you from Court.”
“Then you are really my friend, Count?” she asked anxiously. “You do not believe what they say regarding me?”
“I do not, Princess,” he replied frankly; “and I trust you will still regard me, as I hope I have ever been, your Imperial Highness’s friend. I know full well how Leitolf craved your favour for recommendation to your King; and you, with a woman’s blindness to the grave eventualities of the future, secured him the appointment. Of late you have, I suppose, realised the fatal mistake?”
“Yes,” she said in a low voice; “I have now foreseen my own peril. I have been very foolish; but I have halted, and Leitolf must go.”
“Very wise—very wise indeed! Your Imperial Highness cannot afford to run any further risk. In a few months, or a couple of years at most, the poor King’s disease must prove fatal, and you will find yourself Queen of a brilliant kingdom. Once Queen, your position will be assured, and you will make short work of all those who have conspired to secure your downfall. You will, perhaps, require assistance. If so, rely upon me to render you in secret whatever help lies in my power. With you, a Hapsbourg, as Queen, the influence of Austria must be paramount, remember. Therefore I beg of your Imperial Highness to exercise the greatest discretion not to imperil yourself. The Crown Prince must be allowed no loophole through which he can openly quarrel with you. Remain patient and forbearing until you are Queen.”
They were in a corner of the great hall, standing behind one of the high marble columns and unobserved.
“I am always patient, Count,” was her rather sad response, her chest heaving beneath her chiffon. “As you well know, my marriage has not been a happy one; but I strive to do my duty to both the Court and the people. I make no denial to you. You doubtless know the truth—that when a girl I loved Count Leitolf, and that it was an act prompted by foolish sentimentalism to have connived at his appointment at my husband’s own Court. Betrayed, perhaps, by my own actions, my enemies have seized upon my embarrassing situation to lie about me. Ah,” she added bitterly, “how little they know of my own dire unhappiness!”
“No, no,” urged the Minister, seemingly full of sympathy for her, knowing the truth as he did. “Bear up; put a brave countenance always towards the world. When Leitolf has gone your Imperial Highness will have less embarrassment, and people cannot then place any misconstructions upon your actions. You will not have the foolish young man following you wherever you go, as he now does. At noon to-morrow I will sign the decree for his immediate appointment to Rome, and he will receive but little leave of absence, I can assure you. He will be as much a prisoner in the Palazzo Chigi as is his Holiness in the Vatican,” he added.
“Thank you,” she answered simply, glancing gratefully into his grey, deeply-lined face; and as he bowed to her she left him and swept up the room to where the Emperor was engaged in conversation with Lord Powerstock, the British Ambassador.
The old Minister’s face had changed the instant he left her. The mask of the courtier had fallen from the wily old countenance, and glancing after her, he muttered some words that were inaudible.
If she had but seen the evil smile that played about the old diplomatist’s lips, she would have detected that his intention was to play her false, and she might then have saved herself.
But, alas! in her ignorance she went on light-heartedly, her long train sweeping behind her, believing in De Lindenau’s well-feigned sympathy, and congratulating herself that the all-powerful personage behind the Emperor was still her friend.
The Minister saw that she was satisfied; then turning on his heel, he gave vent to a short, hard laugh of triumph.
Chapter Six.The House of her Enemies.Two days later the Crown Princess Claire returned to Marburg.In the twilight the express from Vienna came to a standstill in the big, echoing station at Treysa, the bright and wealthy capital, and descending from her private saloon, she walked over the red carpet laid for her, bowing pleasantly to the line of bare-headed officials waiting to receive her; then, mounting into her open landau, she drove up the fine, tree-lined Klosterstrasse to the royal palace.De Trauttenberg was with her—the woman whom she now knew to be a spy. Around her, on every side, the crowd at her side shouted a glad welcome to “their Claire,” as they called her, and just before the royal carriage could move off, two or three of the less timorous ones managed to seize her hand and kiss it, though the police unceremoniously pushed them away.She smiled upon the enthusiastic crowd; but, alas! she was heavy of heart. How little, she thought, did those people who welcomed her dream of her unhappiness! She loved the people, and, looking upon them, sighed to think that she was not free like them.Behind her clattered the hoofs of her cavalry escort, and beside the carriage were two agents of police on bicycles. Wherever she moved in her husband’s kingdom she was always under escort, because of anarchist threats and socialistic rumours.Marburg was one of the most beautiful and wealthiest of the kingdoms and duchies comprised in the German Empire. The fine capital of Treysa was one of the show cities of Germany, always bright, gay, and brilliant, with splendid streets, wide, tree-lined promenades, a great opera house, numerous theatres, gay restaurants, and an ever-increasing commerce. Frequented much by English and Americans, there were fine hotels, delightful public gardens, and pleasant suburbs. In no other part of the Empire were the nobility so wealthy or so exclusive, and certainly no Court in Europe was so difficult of access as that of Marburg.The kingdom, which possessed an area of nearly seven thousand square miles and a population of over fifteen millions, was rich in manufactures and in minerals, besides being a smiling country in a high state of cultivation, with beautiful mountainous and wooded districts, where in the valleys were situated many delightful summer resorts.Through its length and breadth, and far beyond the frontiers, the name of the Crown Princess Claire was synonymous of all that was good and affable, generous to the poor, and ever interested in the welfare of the people.The big electric globes were already shining white in the streets as she drove back to the beautiful royal palace that was, alas! to her a prison. Her few days of liberty in Vienna were over, and when presently, after traversing many great thoroughfares full of life and movement, the carriage swung out into a broader tree-lined avenue, at the end of which were the great gates of the royal gardens, her brave heart fell within her.Beyond was the house of her enemies, the house in which she was compelled to live friendless, yet surrounded by those who were daily whispering of her overthrow.The great gates swung open to allow the cavalcade to pass, then closed again with a clang that, reaching her ear, caused her to shudder.The Countess noticed it, and asked whether she felt cold. To this she gave a negative reply, and still remained silent, until the carriage, passing up through the beautiful park, at last drew up before the magnificent palace.Descending, she allowed the gorgeously-dressed man in the royal livery to take her cloak from her shoulders; and then, without a word, hastened along the great marble hall, up the grand staircase and along corridor after corridor—those richly-carpeted corridors of her prison that she knew so well—to her own splendid suite of apartments.The servants she met at every turn bowed to her, until she opened the door of a large, airy, well-furnished room, where a middle-aged woman, in cap and apron, sat reading by a shaded lamp.In an instant, on recognising the newcomer, she sprang to her feet. But at the same moment the Princess rushed to the dainty little cot in the corner and sank down beside the sleeping curly-haired child—her child—the little Princess Ignatia.So passionately did she kiss the sweet chubby little face of the sleeping child that she awoke, and recognising who it was, put out her little hands around her mother’s neck.“Ah, my little pet!” cried the Princess. “And how are you? It seems so long, so very long, since we parted.” And her voice trembled, for tears stood in her eyes. The child was all she had in the world to love and cherish. She was her first thought always. The glare and glitter of the brilliant Court were all hateful to her, and she spent all the time she dared in the nursery with little Ignatia.The English nurse, Allen, standing at her side, said, with that formality which was bound to be observed within those walls,—“The Princess is in most excellent health, your Imperial Highness. I have carried out your Highness’s instructions, and taken her each day for a walk in the park.”“That’s right, Allen,” responded the mother, also in English. “Where is the Crown Prince?”“I have not seen him, your Highness, since you left. He has not been in to see Ignatia.”Claire sighed within herself, but made no outward sign. “Ah, I expect he has been away—to Berlin, perhaps. Is there any function to-night, have you heard?”“A State ball, your Highness. At least they said so in the servants’ hall.”The Princess glanced at the little silver timepiece, for she feared that her presence was imperative, even though she detested all such functions, where she knew she would meet that brilliant crowd of men and women, all of them her sworn enemies. What Steinbach had told her in confidence had lifted the scales from her eyes. There was a wide and cleverly-contrived conspiracy against her.She took her fair-haired child in her arms, while Allen, with deft fingers, took off her hat and veil. Her maids were awaiting her in her own room, but she preferred to see Ignatia before it was too late to disturb the little one’s sleep. With the pretty, blue-eyed little thing clinging around her neck, she paced the room with it, speaking, in German, as every fond mother will speak to the one she adores.Though born to the purple, an Imperial Princess, Claire was very human after all. She regretted always that she was not as other women were, allowed to be her own mistress, and to see and to tend to her child’s wants instead of being compelled so often to leave her in the hands of others, who, though excellent servants, were never as a mother.She sent Allen upon a message to the other end of the palace in order to be alone with the child, and when the door closed she kissed its soft little face fondly again and again, and then burst into tears. Those Court sycophants were conspiring, to drive her away—perhaps even to part her from the only one for whom she entertained a spark of affection. Many of her enemies were women. Could any of them really know all that was meant by a mother’s heart?Prince Ferdinand-Leopold-Joseph-Marie, her husband, seldom, if ever, saw the child. For weeks he never mentioned its existence, and when he did it was generally with an oath, in regret that it was not a son and an heir to the throne.In his paroxysms of anger he had cursed her and his little daughter, and declared openly that he hated the sight of them both. But she was ever patient. Seldom she responded to his taunts or his sarcasm, or resented his brutal treatment. She was philosophic enough to know that she had a heavy burden to bear, and for the sake of her position as future Queen of Marburg she must bear it bravely.Allen was absent fully a quarter of an hour, during which time she spoke continually to little Ignatia, pacing up and down the room with her.The child, seeing her mother’s tears, stared at her with her big, wide-open eyes.“Why does mother cry?” she asked in her childish voice, stroking her cheek.“Because mother is not happy, darling,” was the Princess’s sad answer. “But,” she added, brightening up, “you are happy, aren’t you? Allen has bought you such a beautiful doll, she tells me.”“Yes, mother,” the child answered. “And to-morrow, Allen promises, if I am very good, that we will go to buy a perambulator for my dolly to ride in. Won’t that be nice?”“Oh, it will! But you must be very, very good—and never cry, like mother, will you?”“No,” answered the little one. “I’ll never cry, like mother does.”And the unhappy woman, hearing the child’s lisping words, swallowed the great lump that arose in her throat. It was surely pathetic, that admission of a heart-broken mother to her child. It showed that even though an Imperial Princess, she was still a womanly woman, just as any good woman of the people.A few moments later Allen returned with the reply to the message she had sent to the aged King.“His Majesty says that, though regretting your Imperial Highness is tired after her journey, yet your presence with the Crown Prince at the ball is imperative.” Claire sighed with a heavy heart, saying,—“Very well, Allen. Then we will put Ignatia to bed, for I must go at once and dress,” and she passed her hand across her hot, wearied brow.Again and again she kissed the child, and then, having put her back into her cot, over which was the royal crown of Marburg in gold, she bade the infant Princess good-night, and went along to eat a hasty dinner—for she was hungry after her eighteen-hour journey—and afterwards to put herself in the charge of her quick-handed maids, to prepare her for the brilliant function of that evening.Two hours later, when she swept into the magnificent Throne Room, a brilliant, beautiful figure in her Court gown of cream, and wearing her wonderful tiara, her face was as stern and haughty as any of those members of the royal family present. With her long train rustling behind her, and with her orders and ribbons giving the necessary touch of colour to her bodice, she took up her position beside her husband, a fair-headed, round-faced, slight-moustached man, in a dark-blue uniform, and wearing a number of orders. His face was flat and expressionless.Though they had not met for a week, no word of greeting escaped him. They stood side by side, as though they were strangers. He eyed her quickly, and his countenance turned slightly pale, as though displeased at her presence.Yet the whole assembly, even though hating her, could not but admire her neat waist, her splendid figure, and matchless beauty. In the whole of the Courts of Europe there was no prettier woman than the Crown Princess Claire; her figure was perfect, and her gait always free—the gait of a princess. Even when dressed in her maid’s dresses, as she had done on occasion, her walk betrayed her. Imperial blood can seldom be disguised.The hundred women, those German princesses, duchesses, countesses, baronesses, to each of whom attached their own particular scandal—the brilliant little world that circled around the throne—looked at her standing there with her husband, her hands clasped before her, and envied her looks, figure, position—everything. She was a marked woman.The proud, haughty expression upon her face as she regarded the assembly was only assumed. It was the mask she was compelled to wear at Court at the old King’s command. Her nature was the reverse of haughty, yet the artificiality of palace life made it necessary for the Crown Princess to be as unapproachable as the Queen herself.The guests were filing before the white-haired King, the hide-bound old martyr to etiquette, when the Crown Prince spoke to his wife in an undertone, saying roughly, with bitter sarcasm,—“So you are back? Couldn’t stay away from us longer, I suppose?”“I remained in Vienna as long as I said I should,” was the sweet-faced woman’s calm reply.“A pity you didn’t stay there altogether,” he muttered. “You are neither use nor ornament here.”“You have told me that several times before. Much as I regret it, Ferdinand, my place is here.”“Yes, at my side—to annoy me,” he said, frowning.“I regret to cause you any annoyance,” she answered. “It is not intentional, I assure you.”A foul oath escaped him, and he turned from her to speak with Count Graesal, grand-marechal of the Court. Her face, however, betrayed nothing of his insult. At Court her countenance was always sphinx-like. Only in her private life, in that gorgeous suite of apartments on the opposite side of the palace, did she give way to her own bitter unhappiness and blank despair.
Two days later the Crown Princess Claire returned to Marburg.
In the twilight the express from Vienna came to a standstill in the big, echoing station at Treysa, the bright and wealthy capital, and descending from her private saloon, she walked over the red carpet laid for her, bowing pleasantly to the line of bare-headed officials waiting to receive her; then, mounting into her open landau, she drove up the fine, tree-lined Klosterstrasse to the royal palace.
De Trauttenberg was with her—the woman whom she now knew to be a spy. Around her, on every side, the crowd at her side shouted a glad welcome to “their Claire,” as they called her, and just before the royal carriage could move off, two or three of the less timorous ones managed to seize her hand and kiss it, though the police unceremoniously pushed them away.
She smiled upon the enthusiastic crowd; but, alas! she was heavy of heart. How little, she thought, did those people who welcomed her dream of her unhappiness! She loved the people, and, looking upon them, sighed to think that she was not free like them.
Behind her clattered the hoofs of her cavalry escort, and beside the carriage were two agents of police on bicycles. Wherever she moved in her husband’s kingdom she was always under escort, because of anarchist threats and socialistic rumours.
Marburg was one of the most beautiful and wealthiest of the kingdoms and duchies comprised in the German Empire. The fine capital of Treysa was one of the show cities of Germany, always bright, gay, and brilliant, with splendid streets, wide, tree-lined promenades, a great opera house, numerous theatres, gay restaurants, and an ever-increasing commerce. Frequented much by English and Americans, there were fine hotels, delightful public gardens, and pleasant suburbs. In no other part of the Empire were the nobility so wealthy or so exclusive, and certainly no Court in Europe was so difficult of access as that of Marburg.
The kingdom, which possessed an area of nearly seven thousand square miles and a population of over fifteen millions, was rich in manufactures and in minerals, besides being a smiling country in a high state of cultivation, with beautiful mountainous and wooded districts, where in the valleys were situated many delightful summer resorts.
Through its length and breadth, and far beyond the frontiers, the name of the Crown Princess Claire was synonymous of all that was good and affable, generous to the poor, and ever interested in the welfare of the people.
The big electric globes were already shining white in the streets as she drove back to the beautiful royal palace that was, alas! to her a prison. Her few days of liberty in Vienna were over, and when presently, after traversing many great thoroughfares full of life and movement, the carriage swung out into a broader tree-lined avenue, at the end of which were the great gates of the royal gardens, her brave heart fell within her.
Beyond was the house of her enemies, the house in which she was compelled to live friendless, yet surrounded by those who were daily whispering of her overthrow.
The great gates swung open to allow the cavalcade to pass, then closed again with a clang that, reaching her ear, caused her to shudder.
The Countess noticed it, and asked whether she felt cold. To this she gave a negative reply, and still remained silent, until the carriage, passing up through the beautiful park, at last drew up before the magnificent palace.
Descending, she allowed the gorgeously-dressed man in the royal livery to take her cloak from her shoulders; and then, without a word, hastened along the great marble hall, up the grand staircase and along corridor after corridor—those richly-carpeted corridors of her prison that she knew so well—to her own splendid suite of apartments.
The servants she met at every turn bowed to her, until she opened the door of a large, airy, well-furnished room, where a middle-aged woman, in cap and apron, sat reading by a shaded lamp.
In an instant, on recognising the newcomer, she sprang to her feet. But at the same moment the Princess rushed to the dainty little cot in the corner and sank down beside the sleeping curly-haired child—her child—the little Princess Ignatia.
So passionately did she kiss the sweet chubby little face of the sleeping child that she awoke, and recognising who it was, put out her little hands around her mother’s neck.
“Ah, my little pet!” cried the Princess. “And how are you? It seems so long, so very long, since we parted.” And her voice trembled, for tears stood in her eyes. The child was all she had in the world to love and cherish. She was her first thought always. The glare and glitter of the brilliant Court were all hateful to her, and she spent all the time she dared in the nursery with little Ignatia.
The English nurse, Allen, standing at her side, said, with that formality which was bound to be observed within those walls,—
“The Princess is in most excellent health, your Imperial Highness. I have carried out your Highness’s instructions, and taken her each day for a walk in the park.”
“That’s right, Allen,” responded the mother, also in English. “Where is the Crown Prince?”
“I have not seen him, your Highness, since you left. He has not been in to see Ignatia.”
Claire sighed within herself, but made no outward sign. “Ah, I expect he has been away—to Berlin, perhaps. Is there any function to-night, have you heard?”
“A State ball, your Highness. At least they said so in the servants’ hall.”
The Princess glanced at the little silver timepiece, for she feared that her presence was imperative, even though she detested all such functions, where she knew she would meet that brilliant crowd of men and women, all of them her sworn enemies. What Steinbach had told her in confidence had lifted the scales from her eyes. There was a wide and cleverly-contrived conspiracy against her.
She took her fair-haired child in her arms, while Allen, with deft fingers, took off her hat and veil. Her maids were awaiting her in her own room, but she preferred to see Ignatia before it was too late to disturb the little one’s sleep. With the pretty, blue-eyed little thing clinging around her neck, she paced the room with it, speaking, in German, as every fond mother will speak to the one she adores.
Though born to the purple, an Imperial Princess, Claire was very human after all. She regretted always that she was not as other women were, allowed to be her own mistress, and to see and to tend to her child’s wants instead of being compelled so often to leave her in the hands of others, who, though excellent servants, were never as a mother.
She sent Allen upon a message to the other end of the palace in order to be alone with the child, and when the door closed she kissed its soft little face fondly again and again, and then burst into tears. Those Court sycophants were conspiring, to drive her away—perhaps even to part her from the only one for whom she entertained a spark of affection. Many of her enemies were women. Could any of them really know all that was meant by a mother’s heart?
Prince Ferdinand-Leopold-Joseph-Marie, her husband, seldom, if ever, saw the child. For weeks he never mentioned its existence, and when he did it was generally with an oath, in regret that it was not a son and an heir to the throne.
In his paroxysms of anger he had cursed her and his little daughter, and declared openly that he hated the sight of them both. But she was ever patient. Seldom she responded to his taunts or his sarcasm, or resented his brutal treatment. She was philosophic enough to know that she had a heavy burden to bear, and for the sake of her position as future Queen of Marburg she must bear it bravely.
Allen was absent fully a quarter of an hour, during which time she spoke continually to little Ignatia, pacing up and down the room with her.
The child, seeing her mother’s tears, stared at her with her big, wide-open eyes.
“Why does mother cry?” she asked in her childish voice, stroking her cheek.
“Because mother is not happy, darling,” was the Princess’s sad answer. “But,” she added, brightening up, “you are happy, aren’t you? Allen has bought you such a beautiful doll, she tells me.”
“Yes, mother,” the child answered. “And to-morrow, Allen promises, if I am very good, that we will go to buy a perambulator for my dolly to ride in. Won’t that be nice?”
“Oh, it will! But you must be very, very good—and never cry, like mother, will you?”
“No,” answered the little one. “I’ll never cry, like mother does.”
And the unhappy woman, hearing the child’s lisping words, swallowed the great lump that arose in her throat. It was surely pathetic, that admission of a heart-broken mother to her child. It showed that even though an Imperial Princess, she was still a womanly woman, just as any good woman of the people.
A few moments later Allen returned with the reply to the message she had sent to the aged King.
“His Majesty says that, though regretting your Imperial Highness is tired after her journey, yet your presence with the Crown Prince at the ball is imperative.” Claire sighed with a heavy heart, saying,—
“Very well, Allen. Then we will put Ignatia to bed, for I must go at once and dress,” and she passed her hand across her hot, wearied brow.
Again and again she kissed the child, and then, having put her back into her cot, over which was the royal crown of Marburg in gold, she bade the infant Princess good-night, and went along to eat a hasty dinner—for she was hungry after her eighteen-hour journey—and afterwards to put herself in the charge of her quick-handed maids, to prepare her for the brilliant function of that evening.
Two hours later, when she swept into the magnificent Throne Room, a brilliant, beautiful figure in her Court gown of cream, and wearing her wonderful tiara, her face was as stern and haughty as any of those members of the royal family present. With her long train rustling behind her, and with her orders and ribbons giving the necessary touch of colour to her bodice, she took up her position beside her husband, a fair-headed, round-faced, slight-moustached man, in a dark-blue uniform, and wearing a number of orders. His face was flat and expressionless.
Though they had not met for a week, no word of greeting escaped him. They stood side by side, as though they were strangers. He eyed her quickly, and his countenance turned slightly pale, as though displeased at her presence.
Yet the whole assembly, even though hating her, could not but admire her neat waist, her splendid figure, and matchless beauty. In the whole of the Courts of Europe there was no prettier woman than the Crown Princess Claire; her figure was perfect, and her gait always free—the gait of a princess. Even when dressed in her maid’s dresses, as she had done on occasion, her walk betrayed her. Imperial blood can seldom be disguised.
The hundred women, those German princesses, duchesses, countesses, baronesses, to each of whom attached their own particular scandal—the brilliant little world that circled around the throne—looked at her standing there with her husband, her hands clasped before her, and envied her looks, figure, position—everything. She was a marked woman.
The proud, haughty expression upon her face as she regarded the assembly was only assumed. It was the mask she was compelled to wear at Court at the old King’s command. Her nature was the reverse of haughty, yet the artificiality of palace life made it necessary for the Crown Princess to be as unapproachable as the Queen herself.
The guests were filing before the white-haired King, the hide-bound old martyr to etiquette, when the Crown Prince spoke to his wife in an undertone, saying roughly, with bitter sarcasm,—
“So you are back? Couldn’t stay away from us longer, I suppose?”
“I remained in Vienna as long as I said I should,” was the sweet-faced woman’s calm reply.
“A pity you didn’t stay there altogether,” he muttered. “You are neither use nor ornament here.”
“You have told me that several times before. Much as I regret it, Ferdinand, my place is here.”
“Yes, at my side—to annoy me,” he said, frowning.
“I regret to cause you any annoyance,” she answered. “It is not intentional, I assure you.”
A foul oath escaped him, and he turned from her to speak with Count Graesal, grand-marechal of the Court. Her face, however, betrayed nothing of his insult. At Court her countenance was always sphinx-like. Only in her private life, in that gorgeous suite of apartments on the opposite side of the palace, did she give way to her own bitter unhappiness and blank despair.