Rupert of Hentzau [105]
servants loved him, sir."
"Friend Bauer, for example?"
"Yes, Bauer loved him. Where is Bauer?"
"I hope he's gone to hell with his loved master," grunted Sapt, but he had the grace to lower his voice and shield his mouth with his hand, so that Rischenheim did not hear.
"We don't know where he is," I answered.
"I am come," said Rischenheim, "to put my services in all respects at the queen's disposal."
"And at the king's?" asked Sapt.
"At the king's? But the king is dead."
"Therefore 'Long live the king!'" struck in young Bernenstein.
"If there should be a king--" began Sapt.
"You'll do that?" interrupted Rischenheim in breathless agitation.
"She is deciding," said Colonel Sapt, and again he pointed to the moon.
"But she's a plaguey long time about it," remarked Lieutenant von Bernenstein.
Rischenheim sat silent for a moment. His face was pale, and when he spoke his voice trembled. But his words were resolute enough.
"I gave my honor to the queen, and even in that I will serve her if she commands me."
Bernenstein sprang forward and caught him by the hand. "That's what I like," said he, "and damn the moon, colonel!" His sentence was hardly out of his mouth when the door opened, and to our astonishment the queen entered. Helga was just behind her; her clasped hands and frightened eyes seemed to protest that their coming was against her will. The queen was clad in a long white robe, and her hair hung on her shoulders, being but loosely bound with a ribbon. Her air showed great agitation, and without any greeting or notice of the rest she walked quickly across the room to me.
"The dream, Fritz," she said. "It has come again. Helga persuaded me to lie down, and I was very tired, so at last I fell asleep. Then it came. I saw him, Fritz--I saw him as plainly as I see you. They all called him king, as they did to-day; but they did not cheer. They were quiet, and looked at him with sad faces. I could not hear what they said; they spoke in hushed voices. I heard nothing more than 'the king, the king,' and he seemed to hear not even that. He lay still; he was lying on something, something covered with hanging stuff, I couldn't see what it was; yes, quite still. His face was so pale, and he didn't hear them say 'the king.' Fritz, Fritz, he looked as if he were dead! Where is he? Where have you let him go?"
She turned from me and her eyes flashed over the rest. "Where is he? Why aren't you with him?" she demanded, with a sudden change of tone; "why aren't you round him? You should be between him and danger, ready to give your lives for his. Indeed, gentlemen, you take your duty lightly."
It might be that there was little reason in her words. There appeared to be no danger threatening him, and after all he was not our king, much as we desired to make him such. Yet we did not think of any such matter. We were abashed before her reproof and took her indignation as deserved. We hung our heads, and Sapt's shame betrayed itself in the dogged sullenness of his answer.
"He has chosen to go walking, madam, and to go alone. He ordered us--I say, he ordered us not to come. Surely we are right to obey him?" The sarcastic inflection of his voice conveyed his opinion of the queen's extravagance.
"Obey him? Yes. You couldn't go with him if he forbade you. But you should follow him; you should keep him in sight."
This much she spoke in proud tones and with a disdainful manner, but then came a sudden return to her former bearing. She held out her hands towards me, wailing:
"Fritz, where is he? Is he safe? Find him for me, Fritz; find him."
"I'll find him for you if he's above ground, madam," I cried, for her appeal touched me to the heart.
"He's no farther off than the gardens," grumbled old Sapt, still resentful of the queen's reproof and scornful of the woman's agitation. He was also out of temper with Rudolf himself, because the moon took so long in deciding whether she would make or unmake a king.
"The gardens!" she cried. "Then let us look for him. Oh, you've let him walk in
"Friend Bauer, for example?"
"Yes, Bauer loved him. Where is Bauer?"
"I hope he's gone to hell with his loved master," grunted Sapt, but he had the grace to lower his voice and shield his mouth with his hand, so that Rischenheim did not hear.
"We don't know where he is," I answered.
"I am come," said Rischenheim, "to put my services in all respects at the queen's disposal."
"And at the king's?" asked Sapt.
"At the king's? But the king is dead."
"Therefore 'Long live the king!'" struck in young Bernenstein.
"If there should be a king--" began Sapt.
"You'll do that?" interrupted Rischenheim in breathless agitation.
"She is deciding," said Colonel Sapt, and again he pointed to the moon.
"But she's a plaguey long time about it," remarked Lieutenant von Bernenstein.
Rischenheim sat silent for a moment. His face was pale, and when he spoke his voice trembled. But his words were resolute enough.
"I gave my honor to the queen, and even in that I will serve her if she commands me."
Bernenstein sprang forward and caught him by the hand. "That's what I like," said he, "and damn the moon, colonel!" His sentence was hardly out of his mouth when the door opened, and to our astonishment the queen entered. Helga was just behind her; her clasped hands and frightened eyes seemed to protest that their coming was against her will. The queen was clad in a long white robe, and her hair hung on her shoulders, being but loosely bound with a ribbon. Her air showed great agitation, and without any greeting or notice of the rest she walked quickly across the room to me.
"The dream, Fritz," she said. "It has come again. Helga persuaded me to lie down, and I was very tired, so at last I fell asleep. Then it came. I saw him, Fritz--I saw him as plainly as I see you. They all called him king, as they did to-day; but they did not cheer. They were quiet, and looked at him with sad faces. I could not hear what they said; they spoke in hushed voices. I heard nothing more than 'the king, the king,' and he seemed to hear not even that. He lay still; he was lying on something, something covered with hanging stuff, I couldn't see what it was; yes, quite still. His face was so pale, and he didn't hear them say 'the king.' Fritz, Fritz, he looked as if he were dead! Where is he? Where have you let him go?"
She turned from me and her eyes flashed over the rest. "Where is he? Why aren't you with him?" she demanded, with a sudden change of tone; "why aren't you round him? You should be between him and danger, ready to give your lives for his. Indeed, gentlemen, you take your duty lightly."
It might be that there was little reason in her words. There appeared to be no danger threatening him, and after all he was not our king, much as we desired to make him such. Yet we did not think of any such matter. We were abashed before her reproof and took her indignation as deserved. We hung our heads, and Sapt's shame betrayed itself in the dogged sullenness of his answer.
"He has chosen to go walking, madam, and to go alone. He ordered us--I say, he ordered us not to come. Surely we are right to obey him?" The sarcastic inflection of his voice conveyed his opinion of the queen's extravagance.
"Obey him? Yes. You couldn't go with him if he forbade you. But you should follow him; you should keep him in sight."
This much she spoke in proud tones and with a disdainful manner, but then came a sudden return to her former bearing. She held out her hands towards me, wailing:
"Fritz, where is he? Is he safe? Find him for me, Fritz; find him."
"I'll find him for you if he's above ground, madam," I cried, for her appeal touched me to the heart.
"He's no farther off than the gardens," grumbled old Sapt, still resentful of the queen's reproof and scornful of the woman's agitation. He was also out of temper with Rudolf himself, because the moon took so long in deciding whether she would make or unmake a king.
"The gardens!" she cried. "Then let us look for him. Oh, you've let him walk in