The Puppet Crown [143]
of royal nonchalance, "I shall inform his Majesty at once."
When he had gone, Madame turned coldly to her stricken followers. "Messieurs, the fortunes of war are not on our side. I thank you for your services. Now leave me; I wish to be alone."
One by one they filed out into the corridors. The orderly was the last to leave, and he closed the door behind him. Madame surveyed the room. All the curtains were drawn. She was alone. She stood idly fingering the papers which lay scattered on the table. Suddenly she lifted her hands above her head and clenched them in a burst of silent rage. A dupe! doubly a dupe! To-morrow the whole world would laugh at her, and she was without means of wreaking vengeance. Presently the woman rose above the princess. She sat down, laid her face on her arms and wept.
Fitzgerald stepped from behind one of the curtains. He had taken refuge there during the archbishop's speech. He had not the strength to witness the final humiliation of the woman he loved. He was gazing out of the window at the troops in the Platz when the door closed.
Madame heard the rustle of the curtain and looked up. She sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing.
"You?" she cried. "You? You have dared to hide that you might witness my weakness and my tears? You. . . ."
"Madame!"
"Go! I hate you!"
"Ah, Madame, we always hate those whom we have wronged. Do not forget that I love you, with a love that passes convention."
"Monsieur, I am yet a princess. Did you not hear me bid you go?"
"Why?" in a voice singularly free from agitation. "Because I am the only man who has served you unselfishly? Is that the reason, Madame? You have laughed at me. I love you. You have broken me. I love you. I can never look an honest man in the face again. I love you. Though the shade of my father should rise to accuse me, still would I say that I love you. Madame, will you find another love like mine, the first love of a man who will know no second? Forgive me if I rejoice in your despair, for your despair is my hope. As a queen you would be too far away; but in your misfortune you come so near! Madame, I shall follow you wherever you go to tell you that I love you. You will never be able to shut your ears to my voice; far or near, you will always hear me saying that I love you. Ambition soars but a little way; love has no fetters. Madame, your lips were given to me. Can you forget that?"
"Monsieur, what do you wish?" subdued by the fervor of his tones.
"You! nothing in the world but you."
"Princesses such as I am do not wed for love. What! you take advantage of my misfortune, the shattering of my dreams, to force your love upon me?"
"Madame," the pride of his race lighting his eyes, "confess to me that you did not win my love to play with it. If my heart was necessary to your happiness, which lay in these shattered dreams, tell me, and I will go. My love is so great that it does not lack generosity."
For reply she sorted the papers and extended a blood-stained packet toward him. "Here, Monsieur, are your consols." But the moment his hand touched them, she made as though to take them back. On the top of the packet was the letter she had written to him, and on which he had written his scornful reply to her. She paled as she saw him unfold it.
"So, Madame, my love was a pastime?" He came close to her, and his look was like an invisible hand bearing down on her. "Madame, I will go."
"No, no!" she cried, yielding to the impulse which suddenly laid hold of her. "Not you! You shall not misjudge me. No, not you! Those consols were given to me by the woman of your guide, Kopf, who found them no one knows how. They were given to me this morning. That letter. . . . . I did not intend that you should see it. No, Monsieur; you shall not misjudge the woman, however you judge the princess. Forgive me, it was not the woman who sought your love; it was the princess who had need of it.
"I thought it would be but a passing fancy. I did not dream of this end. To-morrow I shall
When he had gone, Madame turned coldly to her stricken followers. "Messieurs, the fortunes of war are not on our side. I thank you for your services. Now leave me; I wish to be alone."
One by one they filed out into the corridors. The orderly was the last to leave, and he closed the door behind him. Madame surveyed the room. All the curtains were drawn. She was alone. She stood idly fingering the papers which lay scattered on the table. Suddenly she lifted her hands above her head and clenched them in a burst of silent rage. A dupe! doubly a dupe! To-morrow the whole world would laugh at her, and she was without means of wreaking vengeance. Presently the woman rose above the princess. She sat down, laid her face on her arms and wept.
Fitzgerald stepped from behind one of the curtains. He had taken refuge there during the archbishop's speech. He had not the strength to witness the final humiliation of the woman he loved. He was gazing out of the window at the troops in the Platz when the door closed.
Madame heard the rustle of the curtain and looked up. She sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing.
"You?" she cried. "You? You have dared to hide that you might witness my weakness and my tears? You. . . ."
"Madame!"
"Go! I hate you!"
"Ah, Madame, we always hate those whom we have wronged. Do not forget that I love you, with a love that passes convention."
"Monsieur, I am yet a princess. Did you not hear me bid you go?"
"Why?" in a voice singularly free from agitation. "Because I am the only man who has served you unselfishly? Is that the reason, Madame? You have laughed at me. I love you. You have broken me. I love you. I can never look an honest man in the face again. I love you. Though the shade of my father should rise to accuse me, still would I say that I love you. Madame, will you find another love like mine, the first love of a man who will know no second? Forgive me if I rejoice in your despair, for your despair is my hope. As a queen you would be too far away; but in your misfortune you come so near! Madame, I shall follow you wherever you go to tell you that I love you. You will never be able to shut your ears to my voice; far or near, you will always hear me saying that I love you. Ambition soars but a little way; love has no fetters. Madame, your lips were given to me. Can you forget that?"
"Monsieur, what do you wish?" subdued by the fervor of his tones.
"You! nothing in the world but you."
"Princesses such as I am do not wed for love. What! you take advantage of my misfortune, the shattering of my dreams, to force your love upon me?"
"Madame," the pride of his race lighting his eyes, "confess to me that you did not win my love to play with it. If my heart was necessary to your happiness, which lay in these shattered dreams, tell me, and I will go. My love is so great that it does not lack generosity."
For reply she sorted the papers and extended a blood-stained packet toward him. "Here, Monsieur, are your consols." But the moment his hand touched them, she made as though to take them back. On the top of the packet was the letter she had written to him, and on which he had written his scornful reply to her. She paled as she saw him unfold it.
"So, Madame, my love was a pastime?" He came close to her, and his look was like an invisible hand bearing down on her. "Madame, I will go."
"No, no!" she cried, yielding to the impulse which suddenly laid hold of her. "Not you! You shall not misjudge me. No, not you! Those consols were given to me by the woman of your guide, Kopf, who found them no one knows how. They were given to me this morning. That letter. . . . . I did not intend that you should see it. No, Monsieur; you shall not misjudge the woman, however you judge the princess. Forgive me, it was not the woman who sought your love; it was the princess who had need of it.
"I thought it would be but a passing fancy. I did not dream of this end. To-morrow I shall