The Puppet Crown [137]
Mecklenberg tramped on after him. Into the Konigstrasse they turned. At this time, before the news was known, the street was deserted. Up the center of it the man went, his saber scraping along the asphalt, the horse always following.
Voici le sabre de mon pere! Tu vas le mettre a ton cote! Apres la victoire, j'espere Te revoir en bonne sante. . . . .
The street lamps swayed; sometimes a dozen revolved on one post, and Maurice would stop long enough to laugh. How easy it was to walk! All he had to do was to lift a foot, and the pavement would rise to meet it. The moon, standing high behind him, cast a long, weird shadow, and he staggered after it and cut at it with the saber. It was only when he saw the lights of the royal palace and the great globes on the gate posts that sanity returned. This sanity was of short duration.
"To the palace!" he cried; "to the palace! To warn her!" And he stumbled against the gates, still calling, "To the palace! To the palace!"
The cuirassiers who had been left behind to protect the inmates of the palace, were first aroused by the yelling and singing of the students. They rushed out of the guard room and came running to the gates, which they opened. The body of a man rolled inside. They stopped and examined him; the uniform was theirs. The face they looked into was that of the handsome young foreigner who, that day, had gone forth from the city, a gay and gallant figure, who sat his horse so well that he earned their admiration. What could this mean? And where were the others? Had there been a desperate battle?
"Run back to the guard room, one of you, and fetch some brandy. He lives." And Lieutenant Scharfenstein took his hand from the insensible man's heart. Pulsation was there, but weak and intermittent. "Sergeant, take ten men and clear the square. If they refuse to leave, kill! Madame is not yet queen by any means."
The men scattered. One soon returned with the brandy. Scharfenstein moistened the wounded man's lips and placed his palm under the nose. Shortly Maurice opened his eyes, his half- delirious eyes.
"To the palace!" he said, "to the palace--Ah!" He saw the faces staring down at him. He struggled. Instinctively they all stood back. What seemed incredible to them, he got to his knees, from his knees to his feet, and propped himself against a gate post. "Your life or mine!" he cried. "Come on; a man can die but once!" He lunged, and again they retreated. He laughed. "It was a good fight!" He reeled off toward the palace steps. They did not hinder him, but they followed, expecting each moment to see him fall. But, he fell not. One by one he mounted the steps, steadying himself with the saber. He gained the landing, once more steadied himself, and vanished into the palace.
"He is out of his head!" cried Scharfenstein, rushing up the steps. "God knows what has happened!"
He was in time to see Maurice lurch into the arms of Captain von Mitter, who had barred the way to the private apartments.
"Carewe! . . . What has happened? God's name, you are soaked in blood!" Von Mitter held Maurice at arm's length. "A battle?"
"Aye, a battle; one man is dead and another soon will be!" A transient lucidity beamed in Maurice's eyes. "We were betrayed by the native troops; they ran to meet Madame. . . . Marshal Kampf, Prince Frederick, and the cuirassiers are prisoners. . . . I escaped. Beauvais, gave chase. . . . Wanted to kill me. . . . He gave me this. I ran him through the throat. . . . Knew him in South America. . . . He's dead! Inform the archbishop and her Highness that Madame is nearing the city. The king--"
"Hush!" said von Mitter, with a finger on his lip; "hush! The king died at six o'clock. God rest his soul!" He crossed himself. "A disgraceful day! Curse the scheming woman, could she not let us bury him in peace? Prince Frederick's father refused to send us aid."
"I am dying," said Maurice with a sob. "Let me lie down somewhere; if I fall I am a dead man." After a pause: "Take me into the throne
Voici le sabre de mon pere! Tu vas le mettre a ton cote! Apres la victoire, j'espere Te revoir en bonne sante. . . . .
The street lamps swayed; sometimes a dozen revolved on one post, and Maurice would stop long enough to laugh. How easy it was to walk! All he had to do was to lift a foot, and the pavement would rise to meet it. The moon, standing high behind him, cast a long, weird shadow, and he staggered after it and cut at it with the saber. It was only when he saw the lights of the royal palace and the great globes on the gate posts that sanity returned. This sanity was of short duration.
"To the palace!" he cried; "to the palace! To warn her!" And he stumbled against the gates, still calling, "To the palace! To the palace!"
The cuirassiers who had been left behind to protect the inmates of the palace, were first aroused by the yelling and singing of the students. They rushed out of the guard room and came running to the gates, which they opened. The body of a man rolled inside. They stopped and examined him; the uniform was theirs. The face they looked into was that of the handsome young foreigner who, that day, had gone forth from the city, a gay and gallant figure, who sat his horse so well that he earned their admiration. What could this mean? And where were the others? Had there been a desperate battle?
"Run back to the guard room, one of you, and fetch some brandy. He lives." And Lieutenant Scharfenstein took his hand from the insensible man's heart. Pulsation was there, but weak and intermittent. "Sergeant, take ten men and clear the square. If they refuse to leave, kill! Madame is not yet queen by any means."
The men scattered. One soon returned with the brandy. Scharfenstein moistened the wounded man's lips and placed his palm under the nose. Shortly Maurice opened his eyes, his half- delirious eyes.
"To the palace!" he said, "to the palace--Ah!" He saw the faces staring down at him. He struggled. Instinctively they all stood back. What seemed incredible to them, he got to his knees, from his knees to his feet, and propped himself against a gate post. "Your life or mine!" he cried. "Come on; a man can die but once!" He lunged, and again they retreated. He laughed. "It was a good fight!" He reeled off toward the palace steps. They did not hinder him, but they followed, expecting each moment to see him fall. But, he fell not. One by one he mounted the steps, steadying himself with the saber. He gained the landing, once more steadied himself, and vanished into the palace.
"He is out of his head!" cried Scharfenstein, rushing up the steps. "God knows what has happened!"
He was in time to see Maurice lurch into the arms of Captain von Mitter, who had barred the way to the private apartments.
"Carewe! . . . What has happened? God's name, you are soaked in blood!" Von Mitter held Maurice at arm's length. "A battle?"
"Aye, a battle; one man is dead and another soon will be!" A transient lucidity beamed in Maurice's eyes. "We were betrayed by the native troops; they ran to meet Madame. . . . Marshal Kampf, Prince Frederick, and the cuirassiers are prisoners. . . . I escaped. Beauvais, gave chase. . . . Wanted to kill me. . . . He gave me this. I ran him through the throat. . . . Knew him in South America. . . . He's dead! Inform the archbishop and her Highness that Madame is nearing the city. The king--"
"Hush!" said von Mitter, with a finger on his lip; "hush! The king died at six o'clock. God rest his soul!" He crossed himself. "A disgraceful day! Curse the scheming woman, could she not let us bury him in peace? Prince Frederick's father refused to send us aid."
"I am dying," said Maurice with a sob. "Let me lie down somewhere; if I fall I am a dead man." After a pause: "Take me into the throne