Long Live the King!

  CHAPTER X. THE RIGHT TO LIVE AND LOVE

  Dinner was over in the dull old dining-room. The Archduchess Annunciatalighted a cigarette, and glanced across the table at Hedwig.

  Hedwig had been very silent during the meal. She had replied civillywhen spoken to, but that was all. Her mother, who had caught theCountess's trick of narrowing her eyes, inspected her from under loweredlids.

  "Well?" she said. "Are you still sulky?"

  "I? Not at all, mother." Her head went up, and she confronted her mothersquarely.

  "I should like to inquire, if I may," observed the Archduchess, "justhow you have spent the day until the little divertissement on which Istumbled. This morning, for instance?"

  Hedwig shrugged her shoulders, but her color rose. It came in a softwave over her neck and mounted higher and higher. "Very quietly,mother," she said.

  "Naturally. It is always quiet here. But how?"

  "I rode."

  "Where?"

  "At the riding-school, with Otto."

  "Only with Otto?"

  "Captain Larisch was there."

  "Of course! Then you have practically spent the day with him!"

  "I have spent most of the day with Otto."

  "This devotion to Otto--it is new, I think. You were eager to get out ofthe nursery. Now, it appears, you must fly back to schoolroom teas andother absurdities. I should like to know why."

  "I think Otto is lonely, mother."

  Hilda took advantage of her mother's preoccupation to select anotherpeach. She was permitted only one, being of the age when fruit causedher, colloquially speaking, to "break out." She was only faintlyinterested in the conversation. She dreaded these family meals, with hermother's sharp voice and the Countess Loschek's almost too soft one. Butnow a restrained irritability in the tones of the Archduchess made herglance up. The Archduchess was in one of her sudden moods of irritation.Hedwig's remark about Otto's loneliness, the second that day, struckhome. In her anger she forgot her refusal to the Chancellor.

  "I have something to say that will put an end to this sentimentalnonsense of yours, Hedwig. I should forbid your seeing this boy, thisyoung Larisch, if I felt it necessary. I do not. You would probably seehim anyhow, for that matter. Which, as I observed this afternoon, alsoreminds me unpleasantly of your father." She rose, and threw her boltout of a clear sky. She had had, as a matter of fact, no previousintention of launching any bolt. It was wholly a result of irritation."It is unnecessary to remind you not to make a fool of yourself. But itmay not be out of place to say that your grandfather has certain plansfor you that will take your mind away from this--this silly boy, soonenough."

  Hedwig had risen, and was standing, very white, with her hands on thetable. "What plans, mother?"

  "He will tell you."

  "Not--I am not to be married?"

  The Archduchess Annunciata was not all hard. She could never forgiveher children their father. They reminded her daily of a part of herlife that she would have put behind her. But they were her children, andHedwig was all that she was not, gentle and round and young. Suddenlysomething almost like regret stirred in her.

  "Don't look like that, child," she said. "It is not settled. And, afterall, one marriage or another what difference does it make! Men are men.If one does not care, it makes the things they do unimportant."

  "But surely," Hedwig gasped, "surely I shall be consulted?"

  Annunciata shook her head. They had all risen and Hilda was standing,the peach forgotten, her mouth a little open. As for Olga Loschek, shewas very still, but her eyes burned. The Archduchess remembered herpresence no more than that of the flowers on the table.

  "Mother, you cannot look back, and--and remember your own life, andallow me to be wretched. You cannot!"

  Hilda picked up her peach. It was all very exciting, but Hedwig wasbeing rather silly. Besides, why was she so distracted when she did notknow who the man was? It might be some quite handsome person. For Hildawas also at the age when men were handsome or not handsome, and nothingelse.

  Unexpectedly Hedwig began to cry. This Hilda considered going much toofar, and bad taste into the bargain. She slipped the peach into thewaist of her frock.

  The Archduchess hated tears, and her softer moments were only moments."Dry your eyes, and don't be silly," she said coldly. "You have alwaysknown that something of the sort was inevitable."

  She moved toward the door. The two princesses and her lady in waitingremained still until she had left the table. Then they fell in behindher, and the little procession moved to the stuffy, boudoir, for coffee.But Hilda slipped her arm around her sister's waist, and the touchcomforted Hedwig.

  "He may be very nice," Hilda volunteered cautiously. "Perhaps it isKarl. I am quite mad about Karl, myself."

  Hedwig, however, was beyond listening. She went slowly to a window, andstood gazing out. Looming against the sky-line, in the very center ofthe Place, was the heroic figure of her dead grandmother. She fell towondering about these royal women who had preceded her. Her mother,frankly unhappy in her marriage, permanently embittered; hergrandmother. Hedwig had never seen the King young. She could not picturehim as a lover. To her he was a fine and lonely figure. But romantic?Had he ever been romantic?

  He had made her mother's marriage, and had lived to regret it. He wouldmake hers. But what about the time when he himself had taken a wife?Hedwig gazed at the statue. Had she too come with unwilling arms? And ifshe had, was it true that after all, in a year or a lifetime, it made nodifference.

  She slipped out on to the balcony and closed the curtains behind her. Asher eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she saw that there was someone below, under the trees. Her heart beat rapidly. In a moment she wascertain. It was Nikky down there, Nikky, gazing up at her as a childmay look at a star. With a quick gesture Hedwig drew the curtain back.A thin ray of light fell on her, on her slim bare arms, on her lightdraperies, on her young face. He had wanted to see her, and he shouldsee her. Then she dropped the curtain, and twisted her hands togetherlest, in spite of her, they reach out toward him.

  Did she fancy it, or did the figure salute her? Then came the quick ringof heels on the old stone pavement. She knew his footsteps, even as sheknew every vibrant, eager inflection of his voice. He went away, acrossthe Square, like one who, having bent his knee to a saint, turns back tothe business of the world.

  In the boudoir the Archduchess had picked up some knitting to soothe herjangled nerves. "You may play now, Hilda," she said.

  Into Hilda's care-free young life came two bad hours each day. One wasthe dinner hour, when she ate under her mother's pitiless eyes. Theother was the hour after dinner, when, alone in the white drawing-roombeyond the boudoir, with the sliding doors open, she sat at the grandpiano, which was white and gold, like the room, and as cold, and playedto her mother's pitiless ears.

  She went slowly into the drawing-room. Empty, it was a dreary place. Theheavy chandeliers of gold and cut glass were unlighted. The crimson andgilt chairs were covered with white linen. Only the piano, a gleamingoasis in a desert of polished floor, was lighted, and that by two tallcandles in gilt candlesticks that reached from the floor. Hilda, goingreluctantly to her post, was the only bit of life and color in the room.

  At last Annunciata dozed, and Hilda played softly. Played now, not forher mother, but for herself. And as she played she dreamed: of Hedwig'swedding, of her own debut, of Karl, who had fed her romantic heart bytreating her like a woman grown.

  The Countess's opportunity had come. She put down the dreary embroiderywith which she filled the drearier evenings, and moved to the window.She walked quietly, like a cat.

  Her first words to Hedwig were those of Peter Niburg as he linked armswith his enemy and started down the street. "A fine night, Highness,"she said.

  Hedwig raised her eyes to the stars. "It is very lovely."

  "A night to spend out-of-doors, instead of being shut up--" She finishedher, sentence with a shrug of the shoulders.

 
Hedwig was not fond of the Countess. She did not know why. Thetruth being, of course, that between them lay the barrier of her owninnocence. Hedwig could not have put this into words, would not, indeed,if she could. But when the Countess's arm touched hers, she drew aside.

  "To-night," said the lady in waiting dreamily, "I should like to be ina motor, speeding over mountain roads. I come from the mountains, youknow. And I miss them."

  Hedwig said nothing; she wished to be alone with her trouble.

  "In my home, at this time of the year," the Countess went on, stillsoftly, "they are driving the cattle up into the mountains forthe summer. At night one hears them going--a bell far off, up themountainside, and sometimes one sees the light of a lantern."

  Hedwig moved, a little impatiently, but as the Countess went on, shelistened. After all, Nikky, too, came from the mountains. She saw itall--the great herds moving with deliberate eagerness already sniffingthe green slopes above, and the star of the distant lantern. She couldeven hear the thin note of the bell. And because she was sorry for theCountess, who was homesick, and perhaps because just then she had tospeak to some one, she turned to her at last with the thing that filledher mind.

  "This marriage," she said bitterly. "Is it talked about? Am I the onlyone in the palace who has not known about it?"

  "No, Highness, I had heard nothing."

  "But you knew about it?"

  "Only what I heard to-night. Of course, there are always rumors."

  "As to the other, the matter my mother referred to," Hedwig held herhead very high, "I--she was unjust. Am I never to have any friends?"

  The Countess turned and, separating the curtains, surveyed the roomwithin. Annunciata was asleep, and beyond, Hilda was playing dreamily,and very softly, as behooves one whose bedtime is long past. When theCountess dropped the curtain, she turned abruptly to Hedwig.

  "Friends, Highness? One may have friends, of course. It is notfriendship they fear."

  "What then?"

  "A lover," said the Countess softly. "It is impossible to see CaptainLarisch in your presence, and not realize--"

  "Go on."

  "And not realize, Highness, that he is in love with you."

  "How silly!" said the Princess Hedwig, with glowing eyes.

  "But Highness!" implored the Countess. "If only you would use a littlecaution. Open defiance is its own defeat."

  "I am not ashamed of what I do," said Hedwig hotly.

  "Ashamed! Of course not. But things that are harmless in others, in yourposition--you are young. You should have friends, gayety. I am,"she smiled grimly in the darkness, "not so old myself but that I canunderstand."

  "Who told my mother that I was having tea with--with Prince Otto?"

  "These things get about. Where there is no gossip, there are plenty toinvent it. And--pardon, Highness--frankness, openness, are not alwaysunderstood."

  Hedwig stood still. The old city was preparing for sleep. In the Placea few lovers loitered, standing close, and the faint tinkling of a belltold of the Blessed Sacrament being carried through the streets to somebedside of the dying. Soon the priest came into view, walking rapidly,with his skirts flapping around his legs. Before him marched a boy,ringing a bell and carrying a lighted lamp. The priest bent his stepsthrough the Place, and the lovers kneeled as he passed by. The PrincessHedwig bowed her head.

  It seemed to her, all at once, that the world was full of wretchednessand death, and of separation, which might be worse than death. The lamp,passing behind trees, shone out fitfully. The bell tinkled--a thin,silvery sound that made her heart ache.

  "I wish I could help you, Highness," said the Countess. "I should liketo see you happy. But happiness does not come of itself. We must fightfor it."

  "Fight? What chance have I to fight?" Hedwig asked scornfully.

  "One thing, of course, I could do," pursued the Countess. "On those dayswhen you wish to have tea with--His Royal Highness, I could arrange,perhaps, to let you know if any member of the family intended going tohis apartments."

  It was a moment before Hedwig comprehended. Then she turned to herhaughtily. "When I wish to have tea with my cousin," she said coldly, "Ishall do it openly, Countess."

  She left the balcony abruptly, abandoning the Countess to solitary fury,the greater because triumph had seemed so near. Alone, she went redand white, bit her lips, behaved according to all the time-honoredtraditions. And even swore--in a polite, lady-in-waiting fashion, to besure--to get even.

  Royalties, as she knew well, were difficult to manage. They would goalong perfectly well, and act like human beings, and rage and fuss andgrieve, and even weep. And then, quite unexpectedly, the royal streakwould show. But royalties in love were rather rare in her experience.Love was, generally speaking, not a royal attribute. Apparently itrequired a new set of rules.

  Altogether, the Countess Loschek worked herself to quite as great a furyas if her motives had been purely altruistic, and not both selfish andwicked.

  That night, while the Prince Ferdinand William Otto hugged thewoolen dog in his sleep; while the Duchess Hilda, in front of herdressing-table, was having her hair brushed; while Nikky roamed thestreets and saw nothing but the vision of a girl on a balcony, a girlwho was lost to him, although she had never been anything else, Hedwigon her knees at the prie-dieu in her dressing-room followed the exampleof the Chancellor, who, too, had felt himself in a tight corner, asone may say, and was growing tired of putting his trust in princes. SoHedwig prayed for many things: for the softening of hard hearts;for Nikky's love; and, perhaps a trifle tardily, for the welfareand recovery of her grandfather, the King. But mostly she prayed forhappiness, for a bit of light and warmth in her gray days--to be allowedto live and love.