The Puppet Crown, Harlod MacGrath [best new books to read .TXT] 📗

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 room. I shall last till Madame comes. Let her find me there. . . . The brandy!"

Scharfenstein held the flask to the sufferer's lips.

"The throne room?" repeated von Mitter, surprised at this strange request. "Well, why not? For what is a throne when there is no king to sit on it? You will not die, my friend, though the cut is a nasty one. What is an arm? Life is worth a thousand of them! Quick! help me with him, Max!" for Maurice was reaching blindly toward him.

The three troopers who had followed Scharfenstein came up, and the five of them managed to carry Maurice into the throne room, and deposit him on the cushions at the foot of the dais. There they left him.

"Bad!" said von Mitter, as he came limping out into the corridor. "And he made such a brave show when he left here this afternoon. I have grown to love the fellow. A gallant man. I knew that the native troops were up to something. So did the Colonel. Ach! I would give a year of my life to have seen him and Beauvais. To kill Beauvais, the best saber in the kingdom-it must have been a fight worthy of the legends. A bad day! They will laugh at us. But, patience, the archbishop has something to say before the curtain falls. Poor young man! He will lose his arm, if not his life."

"But how comes he into all this?" asked Scharfenstein, perplexedly.

"It is not for me or you to question, Max," said von Mitter, looking down. He had his own opinion, but he was not minded to disclose it.

"What are you going to do?"

"Perform my duty until the end," sourly. "Go you and help against the students, who have not manliness enough even to respect the dead. The cowardly servants are all gone; save the king's valet. There are only seven of us in all. I will seek the king's physician; the dead are dead, so let us concern ourselves with the living;" and he limped off toward the private apartments.

Scharfenstein hurried away to the square.

In the royal bedchamber a girl murmured over a cold hand. "God pity me; I am all, all alone!"

The archbishop was kneeling at the foot of the bed. In his heart was the bitterness of loss and defeat. His dreams of greatness for this clay! The worldly pomp which was to have attended it! Life was but a warm breath on the mirror of eternity; for one the mirror was clear again.

The square soon grew quiet; the students and the cuirassiers had met for the last time. In the throne room shadows and silence prevailed. Maurice lay upon the cushions, the hilt of the saber still in his hand. Consciousness had returned, a clear, penetrating consciousness. At the foot of the throne, he thought, and, mayhap, close to one not visible to the human eye! What a checkerboard he had moved upon, and now the checkmate! So long as the pain did not diminish, he was content; a sudden ease was what he dreaded. Life was struggling to retain its hold. He did not wish to die; he was young; there were long years to come; the world was beautiful, and to love was the glory over it all. He wondered if Beauvais still lay in the road where he had left him. Again he could see that red saber swinging high; and he shivered.

Half an hour passed, then came the distant murmur of voices, which expanded into tumult. The victorious army, the brave and gallant army, had entered the city, and was streaming toward the palaces. Huzzas rose amid the blaring of bugles. The timorous came forth and added to the noise. The conquerors trooped into the palace, and Madame the duchess looked with shining eyes at the throne of her forefathers.


CHAPTER XXVII


WORMWOOD AND LEES

Madame, like a statue of expectancy, riveted her gaze on the throne. Hers at last! Her dreams were realized. She was no longer a duchess by patent; she was a queen by right of inheritance; she was now to be a power among the great. The kingdom of her forefathers was hers. She had reached the goal without bloodshed; she had been patient, and this was her reward. The blaze of her ambition dimmed all other stars. Her bosom heaved, triumph flashed in her beautiful eyes, and a smile parted her lips. Her first thought had been to establish headquarters in the parlors of the Continental Hotel, and from there to summon the archbishop, as a conqueror summons the chief of the vanquished. But no; she could not wait; above all things she desired the satisfaction of the eye. The throne of her forefathers!

"Mine!" she murmured.

Over her shoulders peered eager faces, in which greed and pleasure and impassibility were written. One face, however, had on it the dull red of shame. Not until now did the full force of his intended dishonesty come home to the Englishman; not until now did he realize the complete degradation to which his uniform had lowered him. His had been the hand to stay this misfortune, and he had not lifted it. This king had been his father's friend; and he had taken up arms against him. O, he had begun life badly; he was making the end still more dismal. Would this woman ever be his? Her promises were not worth the air that had carried them to his ear. He, the consort of a queen? A cold sweat dampened his forehead. How he loved her! And that kiss. . . . Queen or not, he would not be her dupe, his would not be a tame surrender.

From the Platz and the Park, where the two armies had bivouacked, came an intermittent cheering. The flames of bonfires were reflected on the windows, throwing out in dull, yellow relief the faces of Madame and her staff.

Between the private apartments of the king and the throne room was a wide sliding door. Suddenly this opened and closed. With his back against it, a pistol in one hand and a saber in the other, stood Captain von Mitter, his face cold and resolute. All eyes were instantly directed toward him.

"Captain," said Madame, imperiously, "summon to me Monseigneur the archbishop!"

Her command fell on ears of stone. Von Mitter made no sign that he heard her.

"Take care, Monsieur," she warned; "I am mistress here. If you will not obey me, my officers will."

"Madame, I acknowledge no mistress save the daughter of the king. No one shall pass this door to announce your presence to Monseigneur."

This reply was greeted with sundry noises, such as sabers coming from scabbards, clicking of pistol locks, and the moving of feet. Madame put out her hand suggestively, and the noise ceased. Von Mitter smiled disdainfully, but did not stir.

"I warn you, Madame," he said, "that this is war. I accept all the responsibilities of my position. I know nothing of any surrender or victory. To me you are simply an enemy. I will kill any one who attempts to pass. I should be pleased if General Kronau would make the first step to question my sincerity."

Kronau's fingers twitched around his revolver, but Madame touched his arm. She could read faces. The young Captain was in earnest. She would temporize.

"Captain, all here are prisoners of war," she said.