CHAPTER XVI. A CROWD IN THE KONIGSTRASSE
The project that had taken shape in the thoughts of Mr. Rassendyll'sservant, and had inflamed Sapt's daring mind as the dropping of a sparkkindles dry shavings, had suggested itself vaguely to more than one ofus in Strelsau. We did not indeed coolly face and plan it, as the littleservant had, nor seize on it at once with an eagerness to be convincedof its necessity, like the Constable of Zenda; but it was there in mymind, sometimes figuring as a dread, sometimes as a hope, now seemingthe one thing to be avoided, again the only resource against a moredisastrous issue. I knew that it was in Bernenstein's thoughts no lessthan in my own; for neither of us had been able to form any reasonablescheme by which the living king, whom half Strelsau now knew to be inthe city, could be spirited away, and the dead king set in his place.The change could take place, as it seemed, only in one way and at onecost: the truth, or the better part of it, must be told, and everytongue set wagging with gossip and guesses concerning Rudolf Rassendylland his relations with the queen. Who that knows what men and women arewould not have shrunk from that alternative? To adopt it was to exposethe queen to all or nearly all the peril she had run by the loss ofthe letter. We indeed assumed, influenced by Rudolf's unhesitatingself-confidence, that the letter would be won back, and the mouth ofRupert of Hentzau shut; but enough would remain to furnish materialfor eager talk and for conjectures unrestrained by respect or charity.Therefore, alive as we were to its difficulties and its unending risks,we yet conceived of the thing as possible, had it in our hearts, andhinted it to one another--my wife to me, I to Bernenstein, and heto me--in quick glances and half uttered sentences that declared itspresence while shunning the open confession of it. For the queen herselfI cannot speak. Her thoughts, as I judged them, were bounded by thelonging to see Mr. Rassendyll again, and dwelt on the visit that hepromised as the horizon of hope. To Rudolf we had dared to disclosenothing of the part our imaginations set him to play: if he were toaccept it, the acceptance would be of his own act, because the fate thatold Sapt talked of drove him, and on no persuasion of ours. As hehad said, he left the rest, and had centered all his efforts on theimmediate task which fell to his hand to perform, the task that wasto be accomplished at the dingy old house in the Konigstrasse. We wereindeed awake to the fact that even Rupert's death would not makethe secret safe. Rischenheim, although for the moment a prisoner andhelpless, was alive and could not be mewed up for ever; Bauer was weknew not where, free to act and free to talk. Yet in our hearts wefeared none but Rupert, and the doubt was not whether we could do thething so much as whether we should. For in moments of excitement andintense feeling a man makes light of obstacles which look large enoughas he turns reflective eyes on them in the quiet of after-days.
A message in the king's name had persuaded the best part of the idlecrowd to disperse reluctantly. Rudolf himself had entered one of mycarriages and driven off. He started not towards the Konigstrasse, butin the opposite direction: I supposed that he meant to approach hisdestination by a circuitous way, hoping to gain it without attractingnotice. The queen's carriage was still before my door, for it had beenarranged that she was to proceed to the palace and there await tidings.My wife and I were to accompany her; and I went to her now, where shesat alone, and asked if it were her pleasure to start at once. I foundher thoughtful but calm. She listened to me; then, rising, she said,"Yes, I will go." But then she asked suddenly, "Where is the Count ofLuzau-Rischenheim?"
I told her how Bernenstein kept guard over the count in the room at theback of the house. She seemed to consider for a moment, then she said:
"I will see him. Go and bring him to me. You must be here while I talkto him, but nobody else."
I did not know what she intended, but I saw no reason to oppose herwishes, and I was glad to find for her any means of employing this timeof suspense. I obeyed her commands and brought Rischenheim to her. Hefollowed me slowly and reluctantly; his unstable mind had again jumpedfrom rashness to despondency: he was pale and uneasy, and, when he foundhimself in her presence, the bravado of his bearing, maintained beforeBernenstein, gave place to a shamefaced sullenness. He could not meetthe grave eyes that she fixed on him.
I withdrew to the farther end of the room; but it was small, and I heardall that passed. I had my revolver ready to cover Rischenheim in casehe should be moved to make a dash for liberty. But he was pastthat: Rupert's presence was a tonic that nerved him to effort and toconfidence, but the force of the last dose was gone and the man was sunkagain to his natural irresolution.
"My lord," she began gently, motioning him to sit, "I have desired tospeak with you, because I do not wish a gentleman of your rank to thinktoo much evil of his queen. Heaven has willed that my secret should beto you no secret, and therefore I may speak plainly. You may say my ownshame should silence me; I speak to lessen my shame in your eyes, if Ican."
Rischenheim looked up with a dull gaze, not understanding her mood. Hehad expected reproaches, and met low-voiced apology.
"And yet," she went on, "it is because of me that the king lies deadnow; and a faithful humble fellow also, caught in the net of my unhappyfortunes, has given his life for me, though he didn't know it. Evenwhile we speak, it may be that a gentleman, not too old yet to learnnobility, may be killed in my quarrel; while another, whom I alone ofall that know him may not praise, carries his life lightly in his handfor me. And to you, my lord, I have done the wrong of dressing a harshdeed in some cloak of excuse, making you seem to serve the king inworking my punishment."
Rischenheim's eyes fell to the ground, and he twisted his handsnervously in and out, the one about the other. I took my hand from myrevolver: he would not move now.
"I don't know," she went on, now almost dreamily, and as though shespoke more to herself than to him, or had even forgotten his presence,"what end in Heaven's counsel my great unhappiness has served. PerhapsI, who have place above most women, must also be tried above most;and in that trial I have failed. Yet, when I weigh my misery and mytemptation, to my human eyes it seems that I have not failed greatly.My heart is not yet humbled, God's work not yet done. But the guilt ofblood is on my soul--even the face of my dear love I can see now onlythrough its scarlet mist; so that if what seemed my perfect joy were nowgranted me, it would come spoilt and stained and blotched."
She paused, fixing her eyes on him again; but he neither spoke normoved.
"You knew my sin," she said, "the sin so great in my heart; and you knewhow little my acts yielded to it. Did you think, my lord, that thesin had no punishment, that you took it in hand to add shame to mysuffering? Was Heaven so kind that men must temper its indulgence bytheir severity? Yet I know that because I was wrong, you, being wrong,might seem to yourself not wrong, and in aiding your kinsman might pleadthat you served the king's honor. Thus, my lord, I was the cause in youof a deed that your heart could not welcome nor your honor praise. Ithank God that you have come to no more hurt by it."
Rischenheim began to mutter in a low thick voice, his eyes still castdown: "Rupert persuaded me. He said the king would be very grateful,and--would give me--" His voice died away, and he sat silent again,twisting his hands.
"I know--I know," she said. "But you wouldn't have listened to suchpersuasions if my fault hadn't blinded your eyes."
She turned suddenly to me, who had been standing all the while aloof,and stretched out her hands towards me, her eyes filled with tears.
"Yet," said she, "your wife knows, and still loves me, Fritz."
"She should be no wife of mine, if she didn't," I cried. "For I and allof mine ask no better than to die for your Majesty."
"She knows, and yet she loves me," repeated the queen. I loved to seethat she seemed to find comfort in Helga's love. It is women to whomwomen turn, and women whom women fear.
"But Helga writes no letters," said the queen.
"Why, no," said I, and I smiled a grim smile. Well, Rudolf Rassendyllhad never wooed my wife.
She rose, saying: "Come, let us
go to the palace."
As she rose, Rischenheim made a quick impulsive step towards her.
"Well, my lord," said she, turning towards him, "will you also go withme?"
"Lieutenant von Bernenstein will take care--" I began. But I stopped.The slightest gesture of her hand silenced me.
"Will you go with me?" she asked Rischenheim again.
"Madam," he stammered, "Madam--"
She waited. I waited also, although I had no great patience with him.Suddenly he fell on his knee, but he did not venture to take her hand.Of her own accord she came and stretched it out to him, saying sadly:"Ah, that by forgiving I could win forgiveness!"
Rischenheim caught at her hand and kissed it.
"It was not I," I heard him mutter. "Rupert set me on, and I couldn'tstand out against him."
"Will you go with me to the palace?" she asked, drawing her hand away,but smiling.
"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim," I made bold to observe, "knows somethings that most people do not know, madam." She turned on me withdignity, almost with displeasure.
"The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim may be trusted to be silent," she said."We ask him to do nothing against his cousin. We ask only his silence."
"Ay," said I, braving her anger, "but what security shall we have?"
"His word of honor, my lord." I knew that a rebuke to my presumption layin her calling me "my lord," for, save on formal occasions, she alwaysused to call me Fritz.
"His word of honor!" I grumbled. "In truth, madam--"
"He's right," said Rischenheim; "he's right."
"No, he's wrong," said the queen, smiling. "The count will keep hisword, given to me."
Rischenheim looked at her and seemed about to address her, but then heturned to me, and said in a low tone:
"By Heaven, I will, Tarlenheim. I'll serve her in everything--"
"My lord," said she most graciously, and yet very sadly, "you lightenthe burden on me no less by your help than because I no longer feel yourhonor stained through me. Come, we will go to the palace." And she wentto him, saying, "We will go together."
There was nothing for it but to trust him. I knew that I could not turnher.
"Then I'll see if the carriage is ready," said I.
"Yes, do, Fritz," said the queen. But as I passed she stopped me for amoment, saying in a whisper, "Show that you trust him."
I went and held out my hand to him. He took and pressed it.
"On my honor," he said.
Then I went out and found Bernenstein sitting on a bench in the hall.The lieutenant was a diligent and watchful young man; he appeared to beexamining his revolver with sedulous care.
"You can put that away," said I rather peevishly--I had not fanciedshaking hands with Rischenheim. "He's not a prisoner any longer. He'sone of us now."
"The deuce he is!" cried Bernenstein, springing to his feet.
I told him briefly what had happened, and how the queen had won Rupert'sinstrument to be her servant.
"I suppose he'll stick to it," I ended; and I thought he would, though Iwas not eager for his help.
A light gleamed in Bernenstein's eyes, and I felt a tremble in the handthat he laid on my shoulder.
"Then there's only Bauer now," he whispered. "If Rischenheim's with us,only Bauer!"
I knew very well what he meant. With Rischenheim silent, Bauer was theonly man, save Rupert himself, who knew the truth, the only man whothreatened that great scheme which more and more filled our thoughts andgrew upon us with an increasing force of attraction as every obstacleto it seemed to be cleared out of the way. But I would not look atBernenstein, fearing to acknowledge even with my eyes how my mind jumpedwith his. He was bolder, or less scrupulous--which you will.
"Yes, if we can shut Bauer's mouth." he went on.
"The queen's waiting for the carriage," I interrupted snappishly.
"Ah, yes, of course, the carriage," and he twisted me round till Iwas forced to look him in the face. Then he smiled, and even laughed alittle.
"Only Bauer now!" said he.
"And Rupert," I remarked sourly.
"Oh, Rupert's dead bones by now," he chuckled, and with that he went outof the hall door and announced the queen's approach to her servants.It must be said for young Bernenstein that he was a cheerfulfellow-conspirator. His equanimity almost matched Rudolf's own; I couldnot rival it myself.
I drove to the palace with the queen and my wife, the other twofollowing in a second carriage. I do not know what they said to oneanother on the way, but Bernenstein was civil enough to his companionwhen I rejoined them. With us my wife was the principal speaker: shefilled up, from what Rudolf had told her, the gaps in our knowledge ofhow he had spent his night in Strelsau, and by the time we arrived wewere fully informed in every detail. The queen said little. The impulsewhich had dictated her appeal to Rischenheim and carried her throughit seemed to have died away; she had become again subject to fears andapprehension. I saw her uneasiness when she suddenly put out her handand touched mine, whispering:
"He must be at the house by now."
Our way did not lie by the house, and we came to the palace without anynews of our absent chief (so I call him--as such we all, from the queenherself, then regarded him). She did not speak of him again; but hereyes seemed to follow me about as though she were silently asking someservice of me; what it was I could not understand. Bernenstein haddisappeared, and the repentant count with him: knowing they weretogether, I was in no uneasiness; Bernenstein would see that hiscompanion contrived no treachery. But I was puzzled by the queen's tacitappeal. And I was myself on fire for news from the Konigstrasse. It wasnow two hours since Rudolf Rassendyll had left us, and no word had comeof him or from him. At last I could bear it no longer. The queen wassitting with her hand in my wife's; I had been seated on the other sideof the room, for I thought that they might wish to talk to one another;yet I had not seen them exchange a word. I rose abruptly and crossed theroom to where they were.
"Have you need of my presence, madam, or have I your permission to beaway for a time?" I asked.
"Where do you wish to go, Fritz?" the queen asked with a little start,as though I had come suddenly across her thoughts.
"To the Konigstrasse," said I.
To my surprise she rose and caught my hand.
"God bless you, Fritz!" she cried. "I don't think I could have enduredit longer. But I wouldn't ask you to go. But go, my dear friend, go andbring me news of him. Oh, Fritz, I seem to dream that dream again!"
My wife looked up at me with a brave smile and a trembling lip.
"Shall you go into the house, Fritz?" she asked.
"Not unless I see need, sweetheart," said I.
She came and kissed me. "Go, if you are wanted," she said. And she triedto smile at the queen, as though she risked me willingly.
"I could have been such a wife, Fritz," whispered the queen. "Yes, Icould."
I had nothing to say; at the moment I might not have been able to say itif I had. There is something in the helpless courage of women that makesme feel soft. We can work and fight; they sit and wait. Yet they donot flinch. Now I know that if I had to sit and think about the thing Ishould turn cur.
Well, I went, leaving them there together. I put on plain clothesinstead of my uniform, and dropped my revolver into the pocket ofmy coat. Thus prepared, I slipped out and made my way on foot to theKonigstrasse.
It was now long past midday, but many folks were at their dinner and thestreets were not full. Two or three people recognized me, but I passedby almost unnoticed. There was no sign of stir or excitement, and theflags still floated high in the wind. Sapt had kept his secret; the menof Strelsau thought still that their king lived and was among them. Ifeared that Rudolf's coming would have been seen, and expected to find acrowd of people near the house. But when I reached it there were no morethan ten or a dozen idle fellows lounging about. I began to stroll upand down with as careless an air as I could assume.
Soon, however, there
was a change. The workmen and business folk,their meal finished, began to come out of their houses and from therestaurants. The loafers before No. 19 spoke to many of them. Some said,"Indeed?" shook their heads, smiled and passed on: they had no time towaste in staring at the king. But many waited; lighting their cigars orcigarettes or pipes, they stood gossiping with one another, looking attheir watches now and again, lest they should overstay their leisure.Thus the assembly grew to the number of a couple of hundred. I ceased mywalk, for the pavement was too crowded, and hung on the outskirts of thethrong. As I loitered there, a cigar in my mouth, I felt a hand on myshoulder. Turning round, I saw the lieutenant. He was in uniform. By hisside was Rischenheim.
"You're here too, are you?" said I. "Well, nothing seems to behappening, does it?"
For No. 19 showed no sign of life. The shutters were up, the doorclosed; the little shop was not open for business that day.
Bernenstein shook his head with a smile. His companion took no heed ofmy remark; he was evidently in a state of great agitation, and his eyesnever left the door of the house. I was about to address him, when myattention was abruptly and completely diverted by a glimpse of a head,caught across the shoulders of the bystanders.
The fellow whom I saw wore a brown wide-awake hat. The hat was pulleddown low over his forehead, but nevertheless beneath its rim thereappeared a white bandage running round his head. I could not see theface, but the bullet-shaped skull was very familiar to me. I was surefrom the first moment that the bandaged man was Bauer. Saying nothingto Bernenstein, I began to steal round outside the crowd. As I went, Iheard somebody saying that it was all nonsense; the king was not there:what should the king do in such a house? The answer was a referenceto one of the first loungers; he replied that he did not know what thedevil the king did there, but that the king or his double had certainlygone in, and had as certainly not yet come out again. I wished I couldhave made myself known to them and persuaded them to go away; but mypresence would have outweighed my declarations, and been taken as asure sign that the king was in the house. So I kept on the outskirts andworked my way unobtrusively towards the bandaged head. Evidently Bauer'shurt had not been so serious as to prevent him leaving the infirmary towhich the police had carried him: he was come now to await, even asI was awaiting, the issue of Rudolf's visit to the house in theKonigstrasse.
He had not seen me, for he was looking at No. 19 as intently asRischenheim. Apparently neither had caught sight of the other, orRischenheim would have shown some embarrassment, Bauer some excitement.I wormed my way quickly towards my former servant. My mind was fullof the idea of getting hold of him. I could not forget Bernenstein'sremark, "Only Bauer now!" If I could secure Bauer we were safe. Safe inwhat? I did not answer to myself, but the old idea was working in me.Safe in our secret and safe in our plan--in the plan on which we all, wehere in the city, and those two at the hunting-lodge, had set our minds!Bauer's death, Bauer's capture, Bauer's silence, however procured, wouldclear the greatest hindrance from its way.
Bauer stared intently at the house; I crept cautiously up behind him.His hand was in his trousers' pocket; where the curve of the elbow camethere with a space between arm and body. I slipped in my left arm andhooked it firmly inside his. He turned round and saw me.
"Thus we meet again, Bauer," said I.
He was for a moment flabbergasted, and stared stupidly at me.
"Are you also hoping to see the king?" I asked.
He began to recover himself. A slow, cunning smile spread over his face.
"The king?" he asked.
"Well, he's in Strelsau, isn't he? Who gave you the wound on your head?"
Bauer moved his arm as though he meant to withdraw it from my grasp. Hefound himself tightly held.
"Where's that bag of mine?" I asked.
I do not know what he would have answered, for at this instant therecame a sound from behind the closed door of the house. It was as if someone ran rapidly and eagerly towards the door. Then came an oath in ashrill voice, a woman's voice, but harsh and rough. It was answered byan angry cry in a girl's intonation. Full of eagerness, I drew my armfrom Bauer's and sprang forward. I heard a chuckle from him and turnedround, to see his bandaged head retreating rapidly down the street. Ihad no time to look to him, for now I saw two men, shoulder to shoulder,making their way through the crowd, regardless of any one in theirway, and paying no attention to abuse or remonstrances. They were thelieutenant and Rischenheim. Without a moment's hesitation I set myselfto push and battle a way through, thinking to join them in front. Onthey went, and on I went. All gave place before us in surly reluctanceor frightened willingness. We three were together in the first rank ofthe crowd when the door of the house was flung open, and a girl ranout. Her hair was disordered, her face pale, and her eyes full of alarm.There she stood on the doorstep, facing the crowd, which in an instantgrew as if by magic to three times its former size, and, little knowingwhat she did, she cried in the eager accents of sheer terror:
"Help, help! The king! The king!"