The Puppet Crown [110]
that I came back."
"Halt!"
Maurice drew up. A sentry stepped out into the road.
"O, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried. With a short laugh he disappeared.
"Hang me," grumbled Maurice as he went on, "these fellows have remarkable memories. I can't recollect any of them." He was mystified.
Shortly he came upon the patrol. The leader ordered him to dismount, an order be obeyed willingly, for he was longing to stand again. He shook his legs, while the leader struck a match.
"Why, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried. "Good! We are coming out to meet you. This is a pleasure indeed."
Maurice gazed keenly into the speaker's face, and to his surprise beheld the baron whose arm he had broken a fortnight since. He climbed on his horse again.
"I am glad you deem it a pleasure, baron," he said dryly. "From what you imply, I should judge that you were expecting me."
"Nothing less! Your departure from Bleiberg was known to us as early as two o'clock this after-noon," answered the baron. "Permit us to escort you to the chateau before the ladies see you. 'Tis a gala night; we are all in our best bib and tucker, as the English say. We believed at one time that you were not going to honor us with a second visit. Now to dress, both of us; at ten Madame the duchess arrives with General Duckwitz and Colonel Mollendorf, who is no relation to the late minister of police in Bleiberg."
Underneath all this Maurice discerned a shade of mockery, and it disturbed him.
"First, I should like to know--" he began.
"Later, later!" cried the baron. "The gates are but a dozen rods away. To your room first; the rest will follow."
"The only clothes I have with me are on my back," said Maurice.
"We shall arrange that. Your guard-hussar uniform has been reserved for you, at the suggestion of the Colonel."
And Maurice grew more and more disturbed.
"Were they courteous to you on the road?"
"Yes. But--"
"Patience! Here we are at the rear gates."
Maurice found it impossible to draw back; three troopers blocked the rear, the baron and another rode at his sides, and four more were in advance. The rear gates swung open, and the little troop passed into the chateau confines. Maurice snatched a glimpse of the front lawns and terraces. The trees and walls were hung with Chinese lanterns; gay uniforms and shimmering gowns flitted across his vision. Somewhere within the chateau an orchestra was playing the overture from "Linda di Chamounix." Indeed, with all these brave officers, old men in black bedecked with ribbons, handsome women in a brilliant sparkle of jewels, it had the semblance of a gay court. It was altogether a different scene from that which was called the court of Bleiberg. There was no restraint here; all was laughter, music, dancing, and wines. The women were young, the men were young; old age stood at one side and looked on. And the charming Voiture-verse of a countess, Maurice was determined to seek her first of all. He vaguely wondered how Fitzgerald would carry himself throughout the ordeal.
The troopers dismounted in the courtyard.
"I'm a trifle too stiff to dance," Maurice innocently acknowledged.
The baron laughed. "You will have to take luck with me in the stable-barrack; the chateau is filled. The armory has been turned into a ballroom, and the guard out of it."
"Lead on!" said Maurice.
At the entrance to the guardroom, which occupied the left wing of the stables, stood a Lieutenant of the hussars.
"This is Monsieur Carewe," said the baron, "who will occupy a corner in the guardroom."
"Ah! Monsieur Carewe," waving his hand cavalierly; "happy to see you again."
Maurice was growing weary of his name.
"Enter," said the baron, opening the door.
Maurice entered, but not without suspicion. However, he was in a hurry to mingle with the gay assembly in the chateau. But that body was doomed to proceed without the honor or the knowledge of his distinguished presence. Several troopers were lounging about. At the sight of the baron they
"Halt!"
Maurice drew up. A sentry stepped out into the road.
"O, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried. With a short laugh he disappeared.
"Hang me," grumbled Maurice as he went on, "these fellows have remarkable memories. I can't recollect any of them." He was mystified.
Shortly he came upon the patrol. The leader ordered him to dismount, an order be obeyed willingly, for he was longing to stand again. He shook his legs, while the leader struck a match.
"Why, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried. "Good! We are coming out to meet you. This is a pleasure indeed."
Maurice gazed keenly into the speaker's face, and to his surprise beheld the baron whose arm he had broken a fortnight since. He climbed on his horse again.
"I am glad you deem it a pleasure, baron," he said dryly. "From what you imply, I should judge that you were expecting me."
"Nothing less! Your departure from Bleiberg was known to us as early as two o'clock this after-noon," answered the baron. "Permit us to escort you to the chateau before the ladies see you. 'Tis a gala night; we are all in our best bib and tucker, as the English say. We believed at one time that you were not going to honor us with a second visit. Now to dress, both of us; at ten Madame the duchess arrives with General Duckwitz and Colonel Mollendorf, who is no relation to the late minister of police in Bleiberg."
Underneath all this Maurice discerned a shade of mockery, and it disturbed him.
"First, I should like to know--" he began.
"Later, later!" cried the baron. "The gates are but a dozen rods away. To your room first; the rest will follow."
"The only clothes I have with me are on my back," said Maurice.
"We shall arrange that. Your guard-hussar uniform has been reserved for you, at the suggestion of the Colonel."
And Maurice grew more and more disturbed.
"Were they courteous to you on the road?"
"Yes. But--"
"Patience! Here we are at the rear gates."
Maurice found it impossible to draw back; three troopers blocked the rear, the baron and another rode at his sides, and four more were in advance. The rear gates swung open, and the little troop passed into the chateau confines. Maurice snatched a glimpse of the front lawns and terraces. The trees and walls were hung with Chinese lanterns; gay uniforms and shimmering gowns flitted across his vision. Somewhere within the chateau an orchestra was playing the overture from "Linda di Chamounix." Indeed, with all these brave officers, old men in black bedecked with ribbons, handsome women in a brilliant sparkle of jewels, it had the semblance of a gay court. It was altogether a different scene from that which was called the court of Bleiberg. There was no restraint here; all was laughter, music, dancing, and wines. The women were young, the men were young; old age stood at one side and looked on. And the charming Voiture-verse of a countess, Maurice was determined to seek her first of all. He vaguely wondered how Fitzgerald would carry himself throughout the ordeal.
The troopers dismounted in the courtyard.
"I'm a trifle too stiff to dance," Maurice innocently acknowledged.
The baron laughed. "You will have to take luck with me in the stable-barrack; the chateau is filled. The armory has been turned into a ballroom, and the guard out of it."
"Lead on!" said Maurice.
At the entrance to the guardroom, which occupied the left wing of the stables, stood a Lieutenant of the hussars.
"This is Monsieur Carewe," said the baron, "who will occupy a corner in the guardroom."
"Ah! Monsieur Carewe," waving his hand cavalierly; "happy to see you again."
Maurice was growing weary of his name.
"Enter," said the baron, opening the door.
Maurice entered, but not without suspicion. However, he was in a hurry to mingle with the gay assembly in the chateau. But that body was doomed to proceed without the honor or the knowledge of his distinguished presence. Several troopers were lounging about. At the sight of the baron they