CHAPTER VI
Gavinand St. Arnaud remained in the little anteroom awaiting the summons to the Empress Queen. Gavin sat quite silent. A resolve that had taken possession of him filled his heart as well as his mind. He dared not mention it to St. Arnaud, for fear of his disapproval—and Gavin loved St. Arnaud so much that he could not bear to oppose him—but his resolution was unshakable. St. Arnaud, brought up in palaces and inured to royalty, yet felt something like agitation at meeting the celebrated woman whose courage and constancy had withstood the greatest captain of the age, Frederick of Prussia, for more than sixteen years. But he, too, remained silent, and in a short half hour the aide returned, and after leading them through a maze of splendid corridors and noble apartments, he showed them into a small and simply furnished room, where the Emperor Francis sat alone.
The Emperor rose at once; for it was the custom of Francis of Lorraine to observe a charming simplicitytoward all with whom he was brought in contact. As consort of a great and popular sovereign in her own right, he chose rather to give her all precedence, and took but little ostensible share in the government. He adopted the rôle of the husband and father only, well knowing that the jealous and varied peoples composing the Austro-Hungarian empire would resent any open share in the government; and although the Empress Queen relied much on his excellent sense and judgment, she was herself the ruler of her people.
Gavin watched St. Arnaud’s way of responding to the approaches of royalty, and followed him closely. There could have been no better example, as St. Arnaud, while perfectly respectful, was far from servile. The easy affability of the Emperor put them entirely at their ease, and in a few moments the door opened and the Empress Queen walked in.
The nearer view of Maria Theresa was still more pleasing and impressive than seeing her at a distance. Her commanding talents, and the lofty dignity which she naturally acquired as a reigning sovereign in her own right, were adorned by a beautiful feminine softness. The woman who was not afraid to face Frederick the Great, with hiswarrior army, was likewise gentle, considerate, and engaging.
Unlike Frederick, who valued men solely for their intellectual qualities, Maria Theresa trusted much to the excellence of their hearts, and, consequently, where one was feared, the other was loved.
The Emperor, who scrupulously observed the deference due his wife’s rank, rose and remained standing until the Empress Queen had seated herself. Then turning to St. Arnaud, as the eldest, she said:
“I and the Emperor have been much pleased to hear of the escape of you and your brother officer from Glatz. I shall need every man who can carry a sword in the next campaign. Will you tell us the particulars of your capture? And meanwhile, pray be seated.”
St. Arnaud promptly began his relation. He told the circumstances of Gavin and himself meeting after Rosbach, and was careful to say that but for that meeting he would have perished on that November night. He then described their going to the country house, their finding there a lady travelling with only a servant—Madame Ziska.
“Madame Ziska!” cried the Empress Queen,turning to the Emperor. “No one has told me of this. You must know,” she added, to St. Arnaud and Gavin, “that Madame Ziska is highly respected here, and I selected her on account of her good sense and discretion, as well as her accomplishments, to teach dancing to our children.”
“We can testify, your Majesty, to her excellent heart as well as her admirable mind, for it was she who conveyed the money to us which made our escape possible,” replied St. Arnaud.
He then described their evening with her, and the sudden appearance of the King of Prussia. At the mention of the name of her great enemy, Maria Theresa coloured deeply. She not only opposed Frederick as the enemy of her country, but she resented his conduct to her as a woman; and when that part of the narrative was reached in which St. Arnaud described Frederick’s indifference to their fate next day, after their evening of jolly companionship, she smiled contemptuously.
But she smiled with the utmost graciousness when St. Arnaud said:
“We both refused the parole offered us, because we could not bring ourselves to accept any favour that would prevent us from drawing our swords in the service of your Majesty.”
At this Gavin broke forth, his colour rising, his eyes moist, and his voice ringing with emotion:
“But, your Majesty, although I would fight for you to the last drop of my blood I have no sword to draw, unless you, out of your goodness, give me one; for I am but a private soldier. He”—pointing to St. Arnaud—“was too generous to tell it of me, but I was only a private in the ranks of Dufour’s regiment, in which he was a captain. I am a gentleman, however, and I stand up and say to all the world I am not unworthy to wear an officer’s sword in the army of any sovereign on earth!”
Gavin suddenly choked, and turning to St. Arnaud, cried:
“Tell it for me, St. Arnaud, for I cannot,” and walked away to a window to hide his agitation.
St. Arnaud was somewhat disconcerted at Gavin’s outbreak, but in response to a word of inquiry from the Empress Queen replied:
“What he says is true. He is the son of Sir Gavin Hamilton, who has ill-used him and his mother, and this young man was forced to take service in the ranks. But he is well educated, as your Majesty perceives by his language, and that he has the character and feelings of a gentlemanis proved by his treatment of his father. For when Sir Gavin Hamilton offered him everything, provided he would abandon his mother, this youth refused, and chose rather poverty and obscurity than to cast dishonour upon his mother, who is Sir Gavin’s true and lawful wife.”
The Emperor, at this, said calmly:
“I heard only a few moments before you entered this room that the young man was Sir Gavin’s son. Sir Gavin is at present in Vienna. Although England has left the ranks of our allies to join our enemies, yet, by mutual arrangement, citizens of one country are not obliged to leave the other until a fixed period. Sir Gavin has availed himself of this provision, and even appears at court as usual. I was told by Captain von Rosen that when you appeared riding in the cart at the end of the parade, Sir Gavin said to him: ‘The younger man is my son, but not my heir.’ I determined to inquire into the matter.”
Gavin, at this, came from his retreat in the window, and cried:
“Sir Gavin might have said that to Baron von Rosen, but if he ever said so much to me, I would use my two fists on him as I did once before. For, your Majesty, such words are a reflection on mymother; and no man that lives, be he my father ten thousand times over, shall say one word against my mother without my doing him the worst injury I can in return for it. My mother is Lady Hamilton, and Sir Gavin admitted it when he threatened me with divorcing my mother, after having abandoned her many years ago. But I defied him to do it, and he dares not attempt it. Nor will my mother be driven or frightened into a divorce; for she is a brave lady, and will not do anything that may one day impair my rights or my standing.”
The Empress Queen listened with shining eyes. To no one could an appeal to the feelings be made more safely than to Maria Theresa.
“How does life repeat itself!” she said. “Here is this mother, who holds tenaciously to her rights for her child’s sake—for I believe every word you have told me. So do I hold on to all my rights, when the King of Prussia would ravage them from me, determined to transmit to my son his heritage unimpaired. Nor is it lost on me,” she said, turning to Gavin, with the sweetest smile—“the son who is faithful to his mother in poverty and obscurity, rather than to the father in power and splendour. Therefore, you may look tome as a friend. You say you are a private soldier. Captain St. Arnaud says you are anxious to be an officer. Before this day is over you shall have a sublieutenant’s commission in my army.”
Gavin stood silent, stunned by his good fortune.
“And,” added the Emperor, “I will give you the sword that her Majesty deems you worthy to wear.”
Going to a cabinet in the room, he unlocked it, and revealed a number of handsome swords suitable for various occasions. Selecting one, a light but elegant blade, he handed it to the Empress Queen with much grace, saying:
“He will value it more from your hand.”
The joy in Gavin’s face when, dropping upon his knee, he received the sword from Maria Theresa transfigured him. It meant honour, glory, the recognition of his honourable birth—all of those things most precious to him and which had seemed so hopelessly far away. He kissed the hilt of the sword reverently as he received it, but he could not speak. He bowed low to the Emperor, and then suddenly turning to St. Arnaud—his happiness overcoming his usually acquired habits of restraint—and seizing him, kissed and hugged him violently.
This natural abandon, which would have offended many sovereigns, touched and also amused the Empress Queen; and when Gavin recovered himself, and stood, blushing and appalled at his breach of etiquette, both Maria Theresa and the Emperor Francis were laughing heartily. The sight of Gavin’s face, flushed and sparkling, his mouth quivering, yet full of smiles, the boyish dimples in his cheek showing, and his lithe, strong body trembling with happiness, appealed to the exquisitely human heart of Maria Theresa. She saw in him a soul capable of the greatest devotion to her.
“Your commission will be sent you to-day, Lieutenant Hamilton,” she said, with an air of the utmost sweetness; “and you, Captain St. Arnaud, will have your wishes fulfilled in any way possible.”
Then, with a graceful bow of dismissal, she rose from her chair. St. Arnaud, with a few appropriate words of gratitude, bowed himself out, followed by Gavin. But before the door closed the Empress Queen and the Emperor heard Gavin’s eager whisper, as he said:
“That noble queen and lady won’t forget us by to-morrow morning, as the King Of Prussiadid;” which speech by no means hurt Gavin in the opinion of the imperial pair. Another person that heard him was Count Derschau, who awaited them outside the door.
St. Arnaud was well versed in courts, and foreseeing that Gavin would always be saying and doing unconventional things, he concluded to let the imperial circle understand that the Empress Queen and the Emperor were pleased with Gavin’snaïveté—and when sovereigns are pleased, courtiers dare not find fault. He, therefore, began to tell, in his calm and easy manner, of Gavin’s late behaviour, and their majesties’ reception of it, at which Gavin blushed and Count Derschau shouted with laughter.
They were then passing along a gallery from which they could look down into a large, square room with a polished floor, where the royal children were assembled, with their governess, for their dancing lesson. A couple of fiddlers were turning up, when the door opened and in walked Madame Ziska.
Gavin was like to have leaped over the railing of the gallery in his delight and surprise at the unexpected meeting, and St. Arnaud said at once to Count Derschau:
“Would it be contrary to custom if we should speak to that lady who is entering? She is the one who assisted us so materially in our escape. We could not have got out without her.”
“Certainly,” responded Count Derschau. “You must know, monsieur, that this is a court where all that is natural and simple prevails. Besides the cares of empire, her Majesty has the welfare of her ten children at heart, as much as any house mother in her empire. The Emperor is the same; and so, although the Imperial Court does not, as you perceive, lack dignity, yet it is less trammelled by etiquette than any court in Europe. It is like one great family, of which the Empress Queen and Emperor are mother and father to us all.”
Count Derschau led them down a stairway which opened upon the dancing-room, and advancing to the lady in charge of the royal children, presented St. Arnaud and Gavin, with the request that they might speak to Madame Ziska; to which she at once agreed.
Madame Ziska was at the end of the large room on her knees before the little two-year-old Archduchess Marie Antoinette, that lovely and most unfortunate princess, whose fair head was one day to fall beneath the axe of the guillotine. She wastoo young to be regularly taught to dance, but Madame Ziska, leading her by her tiny hand, and singing softly to her, she made little steps, and laughed in baby glee at her own performance.
But hearing familiar voices, Madame Ziska turned, and flying forward, the next moment she had grasped Gavin and St. Arnaud each by a hand, and was laughing and crying with pleasure at seeing them.
“Where should we have been without you!” cried Gavin, squeezing her hand with rapture.
“In the prison at Glatz, eating our miserable hearts out,” answered St. Arnaud. “And the money—a hundred ducats—oh, what a fortune it was to us!”
“It was nothing, if it served to release two brave men to fight for the Empress Queen; for let me tell you, you must be hers, body and soul, as I am.”
“We are—we are. Wait until we tell you of our interview with her Majesty just now,” replied Gavin, with all his heart shining in his eyes.
“I long to speak with you,” said Madame Ziska, “but I must now give the archdukes and archduchesses their dancing lesson. Come to my house—in the Teinfeltstrasse—you can easily find it—atfive o’clock, and remain to supper with my husband, my children, and me. We will talk all night, that I promise you.”
Making a low bow to the lady in charge, Madame Ziska then began her task, while Derschau, with St. Arnaud and Gavin, withdrew.
“Madame Ziska is well known and highly respected in Vienna, as you may judge by her being dancing mistress to the imperial children,” said Derschau. “She is also first dancer at the opera. She is the wife of Count Kalenga, an Hungarian nobleman. Ziska is only her stage name. He married her, to the ruin of his worldly prospects. He was disinherited by his family for it, and Madame Ziska’s profession and her humble origin made it impossible for her to be recognized in Viennese society. Nevertheless, they lived very happily together upon the small remnant of his fortune that remained to them until about four years ago. Kalenga, who was one of the handsomest men in the world, became a hopeless paralytic. Madame Ziska, who has retained, as you see, her youth and grace, returned to the stage, and by her own exertions maintains her husband and family, giving Kalenga all the comforts that his sad condition requires. The Empress Queen, who is herself thebest of wives and mothers, determined to encourage Madame Ziska by employing her as dancing mistress to the imperial children. As you see, although of humble birth, she is far superior to most of her profession. Her husband has educated her, and to-day she is one of the most accomplished women in Vienna.”
“We know it,” replied St. Arnaud. “Her conversation charmed the King of Prussia, and the tender, womanly interest she took in two strangers and prisoners showed that her sympathies were large enough to go beyond the narrow circle of her family.”
They were then arrived at the small door of the palace by which they had entered, and Derschau bade them a courteous farewell, after engaging to receive the promised commission for Gavin, and keep it until he called for it next day.
Five o’clock found them before the door of a comfortable house in the Teinfeltstrasse. The door was opened by Madame Ziska herself, who led them to a pleasant room opening into a garden. Through the glass they could see Count Kalenga, muffled up, and sitting in a wheel-chair. Two handsome boys of ten and twelve were pushing the chair to a sheltered spot warmed by the last raysof the setting sun, two younger girls leaning on their father’s lap; he was evidently telling them a story, to which all four were listening. The scene touched both Gavin and St. Arnaud, who knew the story of the man so physically afflicted, but so blessed with the devotion of a wife and children.
“Derschau has told you my story and my husband’s, I know,” said Madame Ziska good-humouredly. “He is a pleasant fellow, but a great gossip—everybody knows everything that Derschau knows. But seeing my husband, even as he is now”—she pointed to Count Kalenga, who was being wheeled toward the house by the two boys—and her soft eyes filled with tears, “are you surprised that a young and tender-hearted girl should have married him? The time came when I reproached myself bitterly for having done it, after I saw that it cost him his fortune and most of his association with his equals. But if he ever regretted it, he was too noble to let me suspect it. And when his affliction came upon him, could I ever do enough to show my devotion to him? Ah, do you wonder that I try to make myself his companion by reading, by studying—that every moment I spend away from him I grudge? Yet it is sweetened by the thought that I am labouring forhim and our children. And at the opera, when the idle young men throw me bouquets and write verses to me, my only thought is, ‘It will make my husband smile’—it amuses him very much; and when I find a jewel in a bouquet I very quickly exchange it for something to make his lot more comfortable.” She rose while she was speaking, and opening the door, the chair was rolled in.
As Madame Ziska said, a view of her husband made it quite plain why he won the heart of a young and impressionable girl. His countenance, still handsome, was full of candour and intelligence, and his figure, in spite of his dreadful affliction, retained its military uprightness. The little girls, Gretchen and Freda, unfastened his cloak and removed his fur cap and gloves, while the lads, Franz and Carl, well trained and polite, stood silent near him, ready to be of service.
“You know who these friends are, Franz,” said Madame Ziska to Count Kalenga. St. Arnaud and Gavin shook hands cordially with Kalenga, who greeted them with the utmost grace and kindness. The children were then dismissed, and Madame Ziska, drawing her chair to the fire, said:
“Thank heaven I do not go to the opera to-night. We will have supper here, and you shalltell us all your adventures. But first, mother-like, I must see to your comfort. Have you lodgings yet?”
“No, we have not thought of it yet.”
“The floor above us is vacant, and is reasonable in price.”
“If you say so, engage it for us. We will obey you as little Franz and Carl do.”
“Very well. Now tell us all—all—all.”
St. Arnaud and Gavin, both talking at once, plunged in and gave an account of all they had passed through since parting at the gates of Glatz on the moonlight night two months before. St. Arnaud told about Bettina’s unflattering behaviour to them at separating, and Madame Ziska screamed with laughter, saying:
“I am glad my niece knows so well how to take care of herself;” to which Count Kalenga added, smiling:
“She has inherited some of my wife’s spirit, for many times, when I was a presumptuous young officer, and she was the object of my devotion, I came perilously near having my ears boxed. I think, however,” he continued, turning to Madame Ziska with an air of affectionate deference, “that all the women of your family have remarkable propriety of bearing, and exact respect from all.”
Madame Ziska coloured with pleasure at this.
Supper was brought, and the whole party grew merry, even Kalenga. The enthusiasm with which the Empress Queen had filled St. Arnaud and Gavin was deeply gratifying to their hosts, and Gavin’s solemn promise that the sword given him by Maria Theresa was forever at the service of her and her family, was but a just acknowledgment of his obligations to her.
“You should have seen her as I did, at Presburg, in 1741, when she won the hearts of all Hungarians,” said Kalenga, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes sparkling, and his hand involuntarily reaching for the sword, no longer at his side, that he had worn so many years in the service of the Empress Queen. “She was then but twenty-four-years old, and the handsomest woman of her time. On the day of her coronation, when she rode gallantly up the Sacred Mount wearing the tattered robe of St. Stephen over her splendid habit, the iron crown of St. Stephen on her head, and, drawing St. Stephen’s sword, defied the four corners of the earth, she was sovereign of the hearts of all who saw her. But greater still was she when she entered the Hall of the Diet, wearing the Hungarian dress, in deep mourning,and the same crown and sword of St. Stephen. Never can any who lived that hour of glorious patriotism forget it. She was the picture of majesty, fearless and unappalled, when, standing upon her throne, she recounted to us, the assembled nobles of Hungary, all the dangers that menaced her, and her sole defence lay in the loyalty and generosity of her Hungarian people. The King of Prussia, when he attacked her kingdom, openly counted upon her timidity as a young and inexperienced princess. Young and inexperienced she was—but no man ever made so great a mistake as Frederick when he reckoned upon the timidity of Maria Theresa. She had ever the courage of a hundred kings in her woman’s heart. So did she inspire us on that never-to-be-forgotten day, that as one man we rose, and with shouts and cheers and clanging of our swords, as we drew them half way from their scabbards and sent them ringing back again, cried: ‘We will die for our King, Maria Theresa.’ At that, the woman’s heart, which ever dwells in her, made itself felt. She, who had scorned fear when the men around her trembled, and who proposed to die rather than yield to injustice, burst into tears, and wept before us. Oh, then we were wild—wewept, too—but they were tears of love and admiration and devotion to her who was so much a queen and yet so much a woman. And from that day to this has she been the darling of the Hungarian people!”
“And she is worthy of it!” cried St. Arnaud, roused from his habitual calm, and speaking before Gavin had time to take breath after Kalenga’s recital. Madame Ziska supplemented her husband’s glowing words by many stories of the Empress Queen’s excellence as a wife and mother, and Gavin and St. Arnaud were eager listeners. Gavin was ready to believe anything of the courage and nobility of a woman defending her rights—he had seen an example of it in his own mother. St. Arnaud, familiar with a corrupt court, where evil and designing women held empire, was glad to know that a royal and imperial lady could make virtue fashionable and decorum popular.
“And now,” said Madame Ziska after a while, “let us go upstairs and see the apartment that I wish our landlord to let to you.”
Taking candles, she led them upstairs, where, above her, was a comfortable suite of rooms to be had. Gavin, in the impetuosity of his gratitude and affection for Madame Ziska, would have leaseda dog-kennel recommended by her. St. Arnaud, cooler and more experienced, saw that the rooms were really desirable, and that Madame Ziska was a good counsellor in the every-day affairs of life. Gavin declared that he meant to stay that very night, as they had no other lodgings, and it was not likely the landlord would come and turn them out. St. Arnaud laughingly agreed; Madame Ziska abetted them by lending them sheets and pillows, and at midnight they tumbled into bed and slept the sleep of the just, untroubled by any qualms as trespassers.
Next morning, by ten o’clock, they had engaged the lodgings. But earlier even than that Gavin had gone after his commission, and had received with it a small sum of money, by way of pay, in advance. It was modest enough, but it was more money than Gavin had ever seen at any one time in his life. With it he could pay back his part of Madame Ziska’s loan and fit himself out with clothes and uniforms. St. Arnaud could draw, in Vienna, on his funds in Paris—so they could establish themselves in comfort in their new quarters, which they proceeded to do. The proudest moment of Gavin’s life was when he stood up to be measured for his uniform in the hussar regimentto which he had been assigned. It was approached, however, by the joy he felt in signing his name to a long letter to his mother—“Your affectionate son, Gavin Hamilton, sublieutenant in the Jascinsky Regiment of Hussars of her Imperial Majesty, the Empress Queen Maria Theresa.”
It is not often that any human being enjoys perfect happiness, even for a single day; but for a time it fell to Gavin Hamilton’s fortunate lot. It is true, he felt it necessary to his credit, as well as his happiness, that his mother should be redeemed from her life of toil, and he ardently longed to have her with him. This, however, he knew to be practicable, and with his sanguine temperament, he regarded it as already accomplished. And so it was a time of happiness that he entered upon at Vienna, the memory of which was a joy to him as long as he lived. Within the week he had completed the formalities necessary to receive his commission, and he was to attend the Empress Queen’s levee, to “kiss hands” upon entering the royal service. St. Arnaud was also to go, to pay his formal respects at court. The levee was held in the evening, and Madame Ziska, who danced at the opera that night, actually drove home, in the intervals of the performance, to seeher two friends. St. Arnaud, who had recovered his good looks, along with regularity in having something to eat, and fresh air and exercise, was exquisitely handsome in his new and dazzling uniform. Gavin, who had no regular beauty, but a fine figure and a frank, speaking face, looked his best in his white hussar jacket and glittering accoutrements. No mother admiring her young daughters dressed for their first ball could have shown more pride and pleasure than Madame Ziska. The children, who were allowed to stay up as a special privilege, were in raptures of delight, while even Kalenga, who was always patient, but seldom gay, smiled in sympathy with the pleasure of those around him. At last St. Arnaud and Gavin set off in a hired coach.
A great crowd of notabilities filled the anterooms of the palace, but way was made everywhere for Gavin and St. Arnaud. Their story had been told broadcast in Vienna, and the proudest and most exclusive society in Europe was prepared to welcome them. St. Arnaud was already well known, and Gavin’s relationship to the haughty and unpopular Sir Gavin Hamilton was public property. St. Arnaud had remarked to Gavin, on entering the palace:
“Surely Sir Gavin Hamilton will absent himself from this levee. He will not wish to be brought face to face with you.”
“You little know my father,” replied Gavin. “It is not in him to avoid anybody or anything. This much I must say of him—he does not know how to skulk.”
True as Gavin had said. As they reached the door of the imperial apartments, Sir Gavin Hamilton, plainly but elegantly dressed, and wearing a diamond-hilted sword and a single splendid decoration on his breast, barred the way. He was conversing with the Chancellor, the celebrated Prince Kaunitz, known as “the coach driver of Europe,” from his superior management of affairs. Great as Kaunitz was, he had an obtrusive vanity, amazing in a man of so much power and ability. In contrast to Sir Gavin Hamilton’s studied simplicity of attire, Kaunitz was a mass of jewels and embroidery, while the entire breast of his blue velvet coat was covered with medals, orders, and decorations. Sir Gavin, a single eyeglass in his eye, surveyed the Chancellor with cool arrogance, and even the mighty Kaunitz was impressed by the calm assurance of the English baronet.
Sir Gavin directly blocked the doorway, and after waiting a few momenta, Gavin, exchanging glances with St. Arnaud, tapped Sir Gavin on the arm lightly, and said:
“Pardon, but will you kindly permit us to enter?”
Sir Gavin turned around, without making way in the least, and quietly surveyed his son for a whole minute.
“I asked,” said Gavin, slightly raising his voice, “if you would kindly permit us to enter.”
The little scene had attracted the attention of those near by, and it was perfectly well known who Gavin was. Kaunitz, who heartily disliked Sir Gavin, watched with a sly smile the outcome of this novel encounter, and anxiously hoped for the baronet’s discomfiture.
Gavin met Sir Gavin’s cold, impassive glance with one full of a steady defiance. They were very unlike, this father and son—Sir Gavin, small, slight, and pale, and Gavin, tall and well developed for his twenty years; but when they stood face to face, defying each other, as it were, a strange likeness came out between them—no one could doubt then their relationship.
After a moment more Gavin coolly unbuckled his sword, and handing it to St. Arnaud, said:
“The Empress Queen gave me that sword with her own hand; therefore, it shall touch no unworthy thing.” And as quick as a flash he seized Sir Gavin around the waist, and setting him aside, as if he were a chair, or any other piece of light furniture, walked in, followed by St. Arnaud, who handed him his sword.
There was a burst of suppressed laughter, in which Kaunitz’s delighted cackle could be heard. Sir Gavin, pale with rage, was yet indomitable, and looked about him with an unabashed front. Kaunitz, whose opportunity it was, sauntered up, smiling blandly.
“My dear Sir Gavin, I feel the utmost sympathy for you. Most disrespectful ofyour son.”
“Yes, he is my son,” slowly replied Sir Gavin, “but—”
Gavin, a few steps farther on, turned back, his face as pale as his father’s.
“Be guarded in what you say,” he said in a distinct voice.
“But not my heir,” continued Sir Gavin.
“HE DROPPED SIR GAVIN ON TO THE FLOWER-BED FIFTEEN FEET BELOW”
“HE DROPPED SIR GAVIN ON TO THE FLOWER-BED FIFTEEN FEET BELOW”
Gavin made one swift and silent step toward him. Close at hand was an open window, andout of it Gavin instantly handed Sir Gavin, holding him carefully suspended, and dropping him considerately upon a flower-bed fifteen feet below.
“I have not hurt him,” he said, turning to the astonished spectators. “I have let him down very softly. You see, I cannot let any one, least of all my father, Sir Gavin Hamilton, say that of me, because it reflects upon my mother. And I dare not wear the sword given me by the Empress Queen, nor even face her Majesty, if I suffer one disrespectful word to be spoken of my mother, Lady Hamilton.”
There was a ripple of applause and laughter. All had occurred so quickly and quietly that only those immediately around them in the vast anteroom knew anything of what had happened. But it spread rapidly. St. Arnaud drew Gavin away, whose face was now deeply flushed, and who was beginning to show agitation.
“I do not know whether this will be my ruin or not with the Empress Queen,” he said in an excited whisper to St. Arnaud; “I only know that some force stronger than I, and better, too, than I, impels me to defend my mother’s good name whenever this man attacks it; and if ruin comes because of it, let it come. Had Sir Gavin beenstanding on the very steps of the throne, I should have done as I did.”
“You are quite right; you have nothing to fear. Prince Kaunitz saw it all, and you may be sure that the right account will get to the Emperor and Empress Queen. So let us take our places in line as if nothing had occurred,” counselled St. Arnaud.
This they proceeded to do, and in their turn they entered the splendid apartment, where weekly the imperial levee was held. On a daïs under a canopy of crimson velvet sat Maria Theresa and the Emperor Francis. The Empress Queen, in a white gown, with a crimson velvet mantle lightly thrown across her shoulders, wearing superb jewels, and a small tiara on her dark hair, was a picture of matronly beauty. No one would have suspected that this majestic and serene woman often spent nights of agonized weeping over her lost armies at Rosbach and Leuthen. Misfortune might rend her heart, but it could not shake her lofty spirit, and she set an heroic example of hope and courage. She was talking affably to those about her, especially a very old man, in the dress of an Hungarian magnate, for whom she had caused a chair to be placed, in consideration of hisinfirmities. As each person was presented she had an appropriate word, and when St. Arnaud’s time came, she acknowledged his respectful greeting by saying pleasantly:
“I desire to hear more of your adventures in getting out of Glatz.”
To Gavin she said that which gave him a thrill of the deepest happiness.
“I hope, Lieutenant Hamilton, that you have informed your mother, Lady Hamilton, of your fortunate escape.”