Rupert of Hentzau [104]
to the window and seemed to lose himself for a moment in the contemplation of the quiet night. There were no more than a few stragglers in the street now; the moon shone white and clear on the empty square.
"I should like to walk up and down outside and think it over," he said, turning to us; and, as Bernenstein sprang up to accompany him, he added, "No. Alone."
"Yes, do," said old Sapt, with a glance at the clock, whose hands were now hard on two o'clock. "Take your time, lad, take your time."
Rudolf looked at him and broke into a smile.
"I'm not your dupe, old Sapt," said he, shaking his head. "Trust me, if I decide to get away, I'll get away, be it what o'clock it will."
"Yes, confound you!" grinned Colonel Sapt.
So he left us, and then came that long time of scheming and planning, and most persistent eye-shutting, in which occupations an hour wore its life away. Rudolf had not passed out of the porch, and we supposed that he had betaken himself to the gardens, there to fight his battle. Old Sapt, having done his work, suddenly turned talkative.
"That moon there," he said, pointing his square, thick forefinger at the window, "is a mighty untrustworthy lady. I've known her wake a villain's conscience before now."
"I've known her send a lover's to sleep," laughed young Bernenstein, rising from his table, stretching himself, and lighting a cigar.
"Ay, she's apt to take a man out of what he is," pursued old Sapt. "Set a quiet man near her, and he dreams of battle; an ambitious fellow, after ten minutes of her, will ask nothing better than to muse all his life away. I don't trust her, Fritz; I wish the night were dark."
"What will she do to Rudolf Rassendyll?" I asked, falling in with the old fellow's whimsical mood.
"He will see the queen's face in hers," cried Bernenstein.
"He may see God's," said Sapt; and he shook himself as though an unwelcome thought had found its way to his mind and lips.
A pause fell on us, born of the colonel's last remark. We looked one another in the face. At last Sapt brought his hand down on the table with a bang.
"I'll not go back," he said sullenly, almost fiercely.
"Nor I," said Bernenstein, drawing himself up. "Nor you, Tarlenheim?"
"No, I also go on," I answered. Then again there was a moment's silence.
"She may make a man soft as a sponge," reflected Sapt, starting again, "or hard as a bar of steel. I should feel safer if the night were dark. I've looked at her often from my tent and from bare ground, and I know her. She got me a decoration, and once she came near to making me turn tail. Have nothing to do with her, young Bernenstein."
"I'll keep my eyes for beauties nearer at hand," said Bernenstein, whose volatile temper soon threw off a serious mood.
"There's a chance for you, now Rupert of Hentzau's gone," said Sapt grimly.
As he spoke there was a knock at the door. When it opened James entered.
"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim begs to be allowed to speak with the king," said James.
"We expect his Majesty every moment. Beg the count to enter," Sapt answered; and, when Rischenheim came in, he went on, motioning the count to a chair: "We are talking, my lord, of the influence of the moon on the careers of men."
"What are you going to do? What have you decided?" burst out Rischenheim impatiently.
"We decide nothing," answered Sapt.
"Then what has Mr.--what has the king decided?"
"The king decides nothing, my lord. She decides," and the old fellow pointed again through the window towards the moon. "At this moment she makes or unmakes a king; but I can't tell you which. What of your cousin?"
"You know that my cousin's dead."
"Yes, I know that. What of him, though?"
"Sir," said Rischenheim with some dignity, "since he is dead, let him rest in peace. It is not for us to judge him."
"He may well wish it were. For, by Heaven, I believe I should let the rogue off," said Colonel Sapt, "and I don't think his Judge will."
"God forgive him, I loved him," said Rischenheim. "Yes, and many have loved him. His
"I should like to walk up and down outside and think it over," he said, turning to us; and, as Bernenstein sprang up to accompany him, he added, "No. Alone."
"Yes, do," said old Sapt, with a glance at the clock, whose hands were now hard on two o'clock. "Take your time, lad, take your time."
Rudolf looked at him and broke into a smile.
"I'm not your dupe, old Sapt," said he, shaking his head. "Trust me, if I decide to get away, I'll get away, be it what o'clock it will."
"Yes, confound you!" grinned Colonel Sapt.
So he left us, and then came that long time of scheming and planning, and most persistent eye-shutting, in which occupations an hour wore its life away. Rudolf had not passed out of the porch, and we supposed that he had betaken himself to the gardens, there to fight his battle. Old Sapt, having done his work, suddenly turned talkative.
"That moon there," he said, pointing his square, thick forefinger at the window, "is a mighty untrustworthy lady. I've known her wake a villain's conscience before now."
"I've known her send a lover's to sleep," laughed young Bernenstein, rising from his table, stretching himself, and lighting a cigar.
"Ay, she's apt to take a man out of what he is," pursued old Sapt. "Set a quiet man near her, and he dreams of battle; an ambitious fellow, after ten minutes of her, will ask nothing better than to muse all his life away. I don't trust her, Fritz; I wish the night were dark."
"What will she do to Rudolf Rassendyll?" I asked, falling in with the old fellow's whimsical mood.
"He will see the queen's face in hers," cried Bernenstein.
"He may see God's," said Sapt; and he shook himself as though an unwelcome thought had found its way to his mind and lips.
A pause fell on us, born of the colonel's last remark. We looked one another in the face. At last Sapt brought his hand down on the table with a bang.
"I'll not go back," he said sullenly, almost fiercely.
"Nor I," said Bernenstein, drawing himself up. "Nor you, Tarlenheim?"
"No, I also go on," I answered. Then again there was a moment's silence.
"She may make a man soft as a sponge," reflected Sapt, starting again, "or hard as a bar of steel. I should feel safer if the night were dark. I've looked at her often from my tent and from bare ground, and I know her. She got me a decoration, and once she came near to making me turn tail. Have nothing to do with her, young Bernenstein."
"I'll keep my eyes for beauties nearer at hand," said Bernenstein, whose volatile temper soon threw off a serious mood.
"There's a chance for you, now Rupert of Hentzau's gone," said Sapt grimly.
As he spoke there was a knock at the door. When it opened James entered.
"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim begs to be allowed to speak with the king," said James.
"We expect his Majesty every moment. Beg the count to enter," Sapt answered; and, when Rischenheim came in, he went on, motioning the count to a chair: "We are talking, my lord, of the influence of the moon on the careers of men."
"What are you going to do? What have you decided?" burst out Rischenheim impatiently.
"We decide nothing," answered Sapt.
"Then what has Mr.--what has the king decided?"
"The king decides nothing, my lord. She decides," and the old fellow pointed again through the window towards the moon. "At this moment she makes or unmakes a king; but I can't tell you which. What of your cousin?"
"You know that my cousin's dead."
"Yes, I know that. What of him, though?"
"Sir," said Rischenheim with some dignity, "since he is dead, let him rest in peace. It is not for us to judge him."
"He may well wish it were. For, by Heaven, I believe I should let the rogue off," said Colonel Sapt, "and I don't think his Judge will."
"God forgive him, I loved him," said Rischenheim. "Yes, and many have loved him. His