The Puppet Crown [75]
vague and indescribable. He felt that he was gazing on the culmination of youth, beauty, and elegance. . . Yes, Fitzgerald was right. To beggar one's self for love; honor and life, and all to the winds if only love remained.
Presently she straightened, and he centered his gaze on the back of the groom.
"Monsieur, place your hat upon your head," smiling. "We have entered the Strasse, and I should not like to embarrass you with the attention of the citizens."
He put on his hat. The impulse came to tell her all that he knew in regard to the kingdom's affairs; but his voice refused its offices. Besides, it was too late; the carriage was rolling into the Platz, and in a moment more it drew up before the terrace of the Continental Hotel. Maurice stepped out and bared his head.
"This evening, Monsieur, at nine, I shall expect to see you at the archbishop's reception to the corps diplomatique." A hand was extended toward him. He did not know what to do about it. "I am offering you my hand to kiss, Monsieur Carewe; it is a privilege which I do not extend to all."
As he touched it to his lips, he was sure that a thousand pairs of eyes were centered on him. The truth is, there were less than one hundred. It was the first time in many months that the Crown Princess had stopped before the Continental Hotel. To the guests it was an event; and some even went as far as to whisper that the handsome young man was Prince Frederick, incognito.
"God save your Royal Highness," said Maurice, at loss for other words. He released her hand and stepped back.
"Until this evening, then, Monsieur;" and the royal barouche rolled away.
"Who loves me, loves my dog," said Maurice, as he sped to his room.
CHAPTER XV
IN WHICH FORTUNE BECOMES CARELESS AND PRODIGAL
On the night prior to the arrival of Maurice in Bleiberg, there happened various things of moment.
At midnight the chancellor left the palace, after having witnessed from a window the meeting of the cuirassiers and the students, and sought his bed; but his sleep was burdened with troubled dreams. The clouds, lowering over his administration, thickened and darkened. How many times had he contemplated resigning his office, only to put aside the thought and toil on?
Defeat in the end was to be expected, but still there was ever that star of hope, a possible turn in affairs which would carry him on to victory. Victory is all the sweeter when it seems impossible. Prince Frederick had disappeared, no one knew where, the peasant girl theory could no longer be harbored, and the wedding was but three days hence. The Englishman had not stepped above the horizon, and the telegrams to the four ends of the world returned unanswered. Thus, the chancellor stood alone; the two main props were gone from under. As he tossed on his pillows he pondered over the apparent reticence and indifference of the archbishop.
All was still in the vicinity of the palaces. Sentinels paced noiselessly within the enclosures. In the royal bedchamber the king was resting quietly, and near by, on a lounge, the state physician dozed. The Captain of the household troop of cuirassiers nodded in the ante-room.
Only the archbishop remained awake. He sat in his chamber and wrote. Now and then he would moisten his lips with watered wine. Sometimes he held the pen in midair, and peered into the shapeless shadows cast by the tapers, his broad forehead shining and deep furrows between his eyes. On, on he wrote. Perhaps the archbishop was composing additional pages to his memoirs, for occasionally his thin lips relaxed into an impenetrable smile.
There was little quiet in the lower town, especially in the locality of the university. Old Stuler's was filled with smoke, students and tumult. Ill feeling ran high. There were many damaged heads, for the cuirassiers had not been niggard with their sabers.
A student walked backward and forward on the stage, waving wildly with his hands to command attention. It was some time before he succeeded.
Presently she straightened, and he centered his gaze on the back of the groom.
"Monsieur, place your hat upon your head," smiling. "We have entered the Strasse, and I should not like to embarrass you with the attention of the citizens."
He put on his hat. The impulse came to tell her all that he knew in regard to the kingdom's affairs; but his voice refused its offices. Besides, it was too late; the carriage was rolling into the Platz, and in a moment more it drew up before the terrace of the Continental Hotel. Maurice stepped out and bared his head.
"This evening, Monsieur, at nine, I shall expect to see you at the archbishop's reception to the corps diplomatique." A hand was extended toward him. He did not know what to do about it. "I am offering you my hand to kiss, Monsieur Carewe; it is a privilege which I do not extend to all."
As he touched it to his lips, he was sure that a thousand pairs of eyes were centered on him. The truth is, there were less than one hundred. It was the first time in many months that the Crown Princess had stopped before the Continental Hotel. To the guests it was an event; and some even went as far as to whisper that the handsome young man was Prince Frederick, incognito.
"God save your Royal Highness," said Maurice, at loss for other words. He released her hand and stepped back.
"Until this evening, then, Monsieur;" and the royal barouche rolled away.
"Who loves me, loves my dog," said Maurice, as he sped to his room.
CHAPTER XV
IN WHICH FORTUNE BECOMES CARELESS AND PRODIGAL
On the night prior to the arrival of Maurice in Bleiberg, there happened various things of moment.
At midnight the chancellor left the palace, after having witnessed from a window the meeting of the cuirassiers and the students, and sought his bed; but his sleep was burdened with troubled dreams. The clouds, lowering over his administration, thickened and darkened. How many times had he contemplated resigning his office, only to put aside the thought and toil on?
Defeat in the end was to be expected, but still there was ever that star of hope, a possible turn in affairs which would carry him on to victory. Victory is all the sweeter when it seems impossible. Prince Frederick had disappeared, no one knew where, the peasant girl theory could no longer be harbored, and the wedding was but three days hence. The Englishman had not stepped above the horizon, and the telegrams to the four ends of the world returned unanswered. Thus, the chancellor stood alone; the two main props were gone from under. As he tossed on his pillows he pondered over the apparent reticence and indifference of the archbishop.
All was still in the vicinity of the palaces. Sentinels paced noiselessly within the enclosures. In the royal bedchamber the king was resting quietly, and near by, on a lounge, the state physician dozed. The Captain of the household troop of cuirassiers nodded in the ante-room.
Only the archbishop remained awake. He sat in his chamber and wrote. Now and then he would moisten his lips with watered wine. Sometimes he held the pen in midair, and peered into the shapeless shadows cast by the tapers, his broad forehead shining and deep furrows between his eyes. On, on he wrote. Perhaps the archbishop was composing additional pages to his memoirs, for occasionally his thin lips relaxed into an impenetrable smile.
There was little quiet in the lower town, especially in the locality of the university. Old Stuler's was filled with smoke, students and tumult. Ill feeling ran high. There were many damaged heads, for the cuirassiers had not been niggard with their sabers.
A student walked backward and forward on the stage, waving wildly with his hands to command attention. It was some time before he succeeded.