Rupert of Hentzau [81]
work not yet done. But the guilt of blood is on my soul--even the face of my dear love I can see now only through its scarlet mist; so that if what seemed my perfect joy were now granted me, it would come spoilt and stained and blotched."
She paused, fixing her eyes on him again; but he neither spoke nor moved.
"You knew my sin," she said, "the sin so great in my heart; and you knew how little my acts yielded to it. Did you think, my lord, that the sin had no punishment, that you took it in hand to add shame to my suffering? Was Heaven so kind that men must temper its indulgence by their severity? Yet I know that because I was wrong, you, being wrong, might seem to yourself not wrong, and in aiding your kinsman might plead that you served the king's honor. Thus, my lord, I was the cause in you of a deed that your heart could not welcome nor your honor praise. I thank God that you have come to no more hurt by it."
Rischenheim began to mutter in a low thick voice, his eyes still cast down: "Rupert persuaded me. He said the king would be very grateful, and--would give me--" His voice died away, and he sat silent again, twisting his hands.
"I know--I know," she said. "But you wouldn't have listened to such persuasions if my fault hadn't blinded your eyes."
She turned suddenly to me, who had been standing all the while aloof, and stretched out her hands towards me, her eyes filled with tears.
"Yet," said she, "your wife knows, and still loves me, Fritz."
"She should be no wife of mine, if she didn't," I cried. "For I and all of mine ask no better than to die for your Majesty."
"She knows, and yet she loves me," repeated the queen. I loved to see that she seemed to find comfort in Helga's love. It is women to whom women turn, and women whom women fear.
"But Helga writes no letters," said the queen.
"Why, no," said I, and I smiled a grim smile. Well, Rudolf Rassendyll had never wooed my wife.
She rose, saying: "Come, let us go to the palace."
As she rose, Rischenheim made a quick impulsive step towards her.
"Well, my lord," said she, turning towards him, "will you also go with me?"
"Lieutenant von Bernenstein will take care--" I began. But I stopped. The slightest gesture of her hand silenced me.
"Will you go with me?" she asked Rischenheim again.
"Madam," he stammered, "Madam--"
She waited. I waited also, although I had no great patience with him. Suddenly he fell on his knee, but he did not venture to take her hand. Of her own accord she came and stretched it out to him, saying sadly: "Ah, that by forgiving I could win forgiveness!"
Rischenheim caught at her hand and kissed it.
"It was not I," I heard him mutter. "Rupert set me on, and I couldn't stand out against him."
"Will you go with me to the palace?" she asked, drawing her hand away, but smiling.
"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim," I made bold to observe, "knows some things that most people do not know, madam." She turned on me with dignity, almost with displeasure.
"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim may be trusted to be silent," she said. "We ask him to do nothing against his cousin. We ask only his silence."
"Ay," said I, braving her anger, "but what security shall we have?"
"His word of honor, my lord." I knew that a rebuke to my presumption lay in her calling me "my lord," for, save on formal occasions, she always used to call me Fritz.
"His word of honor!" I grumbled. "In truth, madam--"
"He's right," said Rischenheim; "he's right."
"No, he's wrong," said the queen, smiling. "The count will keep his word, given to me."
Rischenheim looked at her and seemed about to address her, but then he turned to me, and said in a low tone:
"By Heaven, I will, Tarlenheim. I'll serve her in everything--"
"My lord," said she most graciously, and yet very sadly, "you lighten the burden on me no less by your help than because I no longer feel your honor stained through me. Come, we will go to the palace." And she went to him, saying, "We will go together."
There was nothing for it but to trust him.
She paused, fixing her eyes on him again; but he neither spoke nor moved.
"You knew my sin," she said, "the sin so great in my heart; and you knew how little my acts yielded to it. Did you think, my lord, that the sin had no punishment, that you took it in hand to add shame to my suffering? Was Heaven so kind that men must temper its indulgence by their severity? Yet I know that because I was wrong, you, being wrong, might seem to yourself not wrong, and in aiding your kinsman might plead that you served the king's honor. Thus, my lord, I was the cause in you of a deed that your heart could not welcome nor your honor praise. I thank God that you have come to no more hurt by it."
Rischenheim began to mutter in a low thick voice, his eyes still cast down: "Rupert persuaded me. He said the king would be very grateful, and--would give me--" His voice died away, and he sat silent again, twisting his hands.
"I know--I know," she said. "But you wouldn't have listened to such persuasions if my fault hadn't blinded your eyes."
She turned suddenly to me, who had been standing all the while aloof, and stretched out her hands towards me, her eyes filled with tears.
"Yet," said she, "your wife knows, and still loves me, Fritz."
"She should be no wife of mine, if she didn't," I cried. "For I and all of mine ask no better than to die for your Majesty."
"She knows, and yet she loves me," repeated the queen. I loved to see that she seemed to find comfort in Helga's love. It is women to whom women turn, and women whom women fear.
"But Helga writes no letters," said the queen.
"Why, no," said I, and I smiled a grim smile. Well, Rudolf Rassendyll had never wooed my wife.
She rose, saying: "Come, let us go to the palace."
As she rose, Rischenheim made a quick impulsive step towards her.
"Well, my lord," said she, turning towards him, "will you also go with me?"
"Lieutenant von Bernenstein will take care--" I began. But I stopped. The slightest gesture of her hand silenced me.
"Will you go with me?" she asked Rischenheim again.
"Madam," he stammered, "Madam--"
She waited. I waited also, although I had no great patience with him. Suddenly he fell on his knee, but he did not venture to take her hand. Of her own accord she came and stretched it out to him, saying sadly: "Ah, that by forgiving I could win forgiveness!"
Rischenheim caught at her hand and kissed it.
"It was not I," I heard him mutter. "Rupert set me on, and I couldn't stand out against him."
"Will you go with me to the palace?" she asked, drawing her hand away, but smiling.
"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim," I made bold to observe, "knows some things that most people do not know, madam." She turned on me with dignity, almost with displeasure.
"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim may be trusted to be silent," she said. "We ask him to do nothing against his cousin. We ask only his silence."
"Ay," said I, braving her anger, "but what security shall we have?"
"His word of honor, my lord." I knew that a rebuke to my presumption lay in her calling me "my lord," for, save on formal occasions, she always used to call me Fritz.
"His word of honor!" I grumbled. "In truth, madam--"
"He's right," said Rischenheim; "he's right."
"No, he's wrong," said the queen, smiling. "The count will keep his word, given to me."
Rischenheim looked at her and seemed about to address her, but then he turned to me, and said in a low tone:
"By Heaven, I will, Tarlenheim. I'll serve her in everything--"
"My lord," said she most graciously, and yet very sadly, "you lighten the burden on me no less by your help than because I no longer feel your honor stained through me. Come, we will go to the palace." And she went to him, saying, "We will go together."
There was nothing for it but to trust him.