A crown of straw

The unexpected interruption to the scene between Maximilian and the intended assassin was due to the tardy repentance of Karl Fink.

On leaving Johann in the gallery he had retired at first to his own room, where he flung himself on the bed, and lay writhing in misery, straining his ears for the sound of the pistol’s fire. At one moment he pictured to himself the arrest of the murderer, followed perhaps by a denunciation of himself as the accomplice; at another his thoughts reverted to the many acts of kindness shown him by his young master, and he groaned aloud in remorse for his betrayal.

As the minutes slipped by and he heard nothing, a gleam of fresh hope stole into his mind. It might not be too late even now to interfere and save the King’s life. In that case he thought he knew Maximilian well enough to be secure of forgiveness for his previous treachery. Inspired with sudden courage, he sprang to his feet and rushed out of the room.

As he approached the entrance to the gallery a fresh idea struck him. His solitary interference might not be sufficient to avert the danger which threatened the King, while it would certainly expose him to the vengeance of Johann and his fellow-conspirators. He made up his mind as he ran along to go round to the apartments of the King’s aunt, and inform her of the situation, leaving it to her to summon assistance for her nephew.

It did not take long for him to burst, all pale and trembling, into the presence of the Princess.

She was not alone. With her was the Count von Sigismark, who had come to tender her his thanks for her graciousness in inviting his daughter to ride with Prince Ernest—perhaps also to try and ascertain what meaning lay under this proceeding on the part of a woman who seldom acted without a motive.

As soon as Karl could command his breath he panted out—

“Quick! There is a man concealed in the south gallery, who has come here to murder the King. His name is Johann Mark, and he is a member of a secret society.”

For an instant Hermengarde gave way to sheer affright. Then, in a flash, she recovered herself, and darted a strange and awful look towards the Chancellor. But he either did not see or did not comprehend the look. As soon as the sense of Karl’s announcement had reached his brain, he sprang up and rushed out through the open door, uttering loud cries for help. In a few seconds the whole Castle was roused, and an effective force was coming to the King’s rescue in the manner already described.

When Hermengarde left the gallery after witnessing the strange termination of the events which had taken place there, she made an almost imperceptible signal to the Chancellor to follow her to her own apartments.

The old courtier felt uneasy at the idea of having to discuss what had just transpired with his formidable patroness. He would have preferred to have had time for consideration. But he did not dare to neglect her commands, and they were speedily closeted together.

“Well, what do you think of this?” demanded the Princess as soon as they were alone.

“I can hardly answer you, Madam. I confess that at present I do not understand what has occurred. I am in the dark.”

Hermengarde smiled at this excessive caution.

“As I have had the honour to remark to you once before to-day,” she said, “kings of Franconia sometimes do strange things. But I do not think I have ever heard of their doing a more extraordinary one than publicly pardoning an assassin, and at the same time inviting him to become their guest.”

The Chancellor fidgeted nervously.

“It certainly appeared as if he had come here with the intention of committing some crime. But perhaps his Majesty had succeeded in convincing him of his wickedness before we arrived on the scene.”

“Or perhaps he had succeeded in convincing his Majesty,” sneered the Princess. “It appears to me that our arrival was most inopportune. We were clearly not wanted, my dear Chancellor. By what right do we take it on ourselves to interrupt the King when he is conversing with his friends?”

The old Count knitted his brows, but preserved a discreet silence. He pricked up his ears at Hermengarde’s next question.

“Can you tell me whether the revolutionary societies are very active in Mannhausen just now?”

“I believe they are, Madam. I have received information lately that a great many secret meetings are being held, and the police anticipate some formidable outbreak, unless we are beforehand with them by arresting the ringleaders.”

“Exactly. And do you think the effect will be discouraging, or the reverse, when they learn that one of their ringleaders has been publicly received in the palace, and enjoys the favour of the King? Why, the whole country will ring with it. People will say that his Majesty is in sympathy with these wretches.”

“I hope it is not so bad as that. Surely the King’s action was simply a piece of generosity—rather high-flown, perhaps, but without the least political significance. At least, as long as his Majesty entrusts me with the burden of government, you may rest assured that I shall not be a party to any yielding to sedition.”

“Yes, as long as you are entrusted with it, Count. But, unless you look out, you may find that the King is listening to other advisers behind your back. The scene which has just taken place was hardly calculated to raise your authority in the eyes of the Court.”

And leaving this poisoned shaft to do its work in the slow mind of the Chancellor, Hermengarde dismissed him graciously, and summoned her favourite page.

“Go and find Karl Fink,” she commanded. “Say that you have a private message for him, and when you are sure that you cannot be overheard, tell him from me to be at the west corner of the Castle terrace in ten minutes’ time. Tell him to wrap himself up.”

The message from the Princess found Karl in his own room, whither he had just retired after Johann was comfortably lodged in accordance with the King’s directions. To his relief his former comrade had said but little when they were again together.

“You see, Karl,” he observed sarcastically, “your fears were groundless. Everything has passed off well, and you will not lose your head, after all.”

“Swear that you will never let the King know who it was that brought you into the gallery,” urged the other, still filled with apprehension.

Johann regarded him pityingly.

“Poor fool! If you have forgotten the oaths by which we bound ourselves at Stuttgart, I have not. Fear nothing; you are safe this time. But beware how you hatch any further treachery. Next time you may not escape so lightly.”

Karl would have been only too glad to follow this advice, by abstaining from all further part in the intrigues which were going forward around him. Nevertheless, when the page came to summon him to attend on his mistress, he did not dare to send back a refusal.

Hermengarde meanwhile had proceeded to divest herself of her jewels and of her outer skirt, and to put on a homely walking dress such as might have been worn by a woman of the middle class. This done she emerged cautiously from her apartment, and stole down by a back staircase to the rendezvous.

It was getting dark, and the night threatened to be a stormy one. She noted the signs of rough weather, and was about to re-enter the Castle to obtain a cloak, when she saw the figure of a man coming towards her.

It was Karl. With the warning of his former comrade still ringing in his ears, he came along reluctantly, feeling only too sure that his assistance was required for some purpose which would not bear the light.

As soon as he was near enough to recognise the Princess’s countenance, he said, with a sort of timid insolence—

“I hope your Royal Highness does not want me for long, as I may be summoned at any moment by his Majesty.”

Hermengarde frowned impatiently. She readily divined the weak and timorous character of her instrument.

“It is on his Majesty’s service that I require you,” she answered firmly. “You are to accompany me to the lodge where this Dorothea Gitten dwells.”

Karl’s lingering dread of Johann was still greater than his awe of the Princess.

“Does his Majesty know that we are going there?” he ventured to ask.

Then Hermengarde began to see that something was the matter. By an effort she suppressed her pride for the moment, and condescended to make a half-confidant of the servant.

“I thought you understood by this time, Karl,” she said, “the cause of the interest I take in this matter. Do you suppose that if I regarded it as a mere common love adventure I should take the trouble to go and see this girl? It is because I have fears as to what it may lead to, owing to my knowledge of your master’s character. You are familiar with the fate of King Leopold, and you must see how necessary it is that his friends should watch carefully over King Maximilian, whose eccentricities have already created a wide feeling of apprehension.”

As her meaning slowly penetrated the man’s mind, he fairly staggered.

“God in Heaven!” he exclaimed. “Surely your Royal Highness does not believe that the King is going mad!”

“I have said nothing of the kind,” returned the Princess quickly, seeing that she had gone too far. “You have better opportunities of seeing than most of his attendants. Have you noticed anything strange in his Majesty’s conduct of late?”

“Heaven forbid, your Royal Highness!”

Hermengarde shrugged her shoulders. Karl drew back a step.

“Forgive me, Madam, but I dare not come with you,” he said in a low voice.

“Silence, fellow!” answered the Princess, speaking in low but menacing tones. “Do you wish the King to know that you have been playing the spy all these months, and carrying reports of all his movements to me? Do you suppose that I could not crush you like an eggshell if it were worth my while? You have gone too far to disobey me now. Lead on to the cottage.”

The unfortunate wretch submitted without another word, and they started off through the forest, Karl going in front and the Princess keeping up close behind.

For the next half-hour not a word was spoken. Then they gradually emerged from the thick growth of wood and found themselves on the edge of the little clearing.

“Stay here,” commanded the Princess, “and wait for my return.”

Only too glad to escape further risk, Karl bowed, and slunk back behind the shadow of a large ash, while the Princess advanced alone to the door of the forester’s hut.

It was by this time dark, and the glow of a lamp shone out through the window of a room to the right of the Gothic porch. As Hermengarde knocked at the door this light was seen to move and pass out into the hall. Then came the noise of turning the lock, and the door opened, and Dorothea stood before her, holding the lamp high above her head.

In spite of her habitual self-possession, the Princess could not restrain a start of admiration which testified that she now understood the King’s infatuation. She quickly recovered herself, and addressed the young girl.

“I come from the Castle yonder,” she said, “and have missed my path in the wood. I thought you would let me rest here for a little before I returned.”

“Oh, yes; come in, if you please,” was Dorothea’s answer, in soft, musical tones, that yet had a faint undertone of pathos in them which had been missing earlier in the day.

The Princess followed her into the low, oak-roofed parlour where she had been sitting, and accepted the wooden armchair, with a loose red cushion on the seat, which she pushed forward. Franz was not there. Dorothea explained that her father had gone out to make his round of the forest, and look out for poachers.

“And does he leave you here all alone?” queried Hermengarde, assuming an air of sympathy in order to set the girl at her ease.

“Oh, yes, Madam. I am not afraid. I have been accustomed to stay here alone since my mother died. But won’t you have some refreshment while you are resting? We have a hare in the larder, and some white bread, which I make myself.”

“Not anything to eat, thank you, my dear,” responded Hermengarde, graciously. “But I have heard that you make some most delicious cider; can you spare me a glass of that?”

Dorothea flushed at the compliment.

“I shall be very pleased if you will taste it,” she said; “but I am afraid you will be disappointed.”

She stepped to a cupboard in the wall beside the fireplace, and drew forth the silver flagon. She had taken in her hand the famous glass out of which Maximilian was accustomed to drink; but after a moment’s hesitation she put it back again, and chose the one with the slight flaw in its rim.

“This is a very old glass; I hope you will not mind its being chipped,” she said, as she filled it with the bright liquid, and offered it to the Princess.

“You need not make any excuses,” the Princess answered. “A glass which is good enough for a king to drink out of is surely good enough for me.”

Dorothea gave a great start, and turned a pained, questioning look on the speaker, who only smiled in return.

“Why do you say that, Madam? Who has told you about the King?” asked the agitated girl.

The Princess put on a look of amused surprise.

“My dear child, surely you did not suppose it was such a secret? The King of Franconia cannot come day after day to the same place without people hearing of it. I ought to congratulate you. His Majesty is said to be very much charmed with—your cider.”

The meaning smile which accompanied these last words went like a stab through the shrinking girl, coming as it did in the wake of the explosion which had taken place that afternoon.

“Please do not talk like that,” she implored. “I assure you, Madam, that up to an hour ago I never even dreamt that he was the King. His Majesty called himself simply Herr Maurice when he was here, and I looked upon him as merely a young gentleman of the Court. And indeed he never did or said anything to make me think of him as anything more than a friend. And it was all so innocent and pleasant up till to-day. And then Johann saw him, and told me who he was, and hinted at such terrible things that he made me weep.”

At this name of Johann a look of vivid intelligence flashed from Hermengarde’s eyes. It was scarcely an hour since she had heard that name under circumstances which made it difficult for her to have forgotten it.

“Johann!” she exclaimed. “Do you mean a tall man, with dark hair and a pointed beard?”

“Yes. Do you know him?” cried Dorothea in natural surprise.

Hermengarde, taken aback for the moment, hardly knew what answer to make.

“He is now in the Castle,” she said at length. “He has had an interview of some kind with the King, who has taken him into favour, and invited him to remain.”

Dorothea was utterly bewildered. Only two hours ago her cousin had left her, breathing hatred against the false Maurice. Now she learned that all his wrath had apparently been appeased, and replaced by quite opposite feelings. It was more than she could understand.

Meanwhile Hermengarde sat busily revolving in her mind the new light thrown upon the King’s extraordinary action in pardoning his would-be assassin.

“Is Johann a friend of yours?” she demanded presently, looking up.

“He is my cousin,” answered Dorothea, with simplicity; “he is my greatest friend in the world.”

The Princess sat silent for a time, sipping her cider and watching Dorothea. At length she seemed to have made up her mind what course to pursue, and putting down her glass, asked quietly—

“How should you like to come and stay at the Castle for a time, and see your cousin?”

A troubled look came over the girl’s face.

“I should not like it at all. I do not think I could bear it, to be there with all those lords and ladies. They would despise me, and I should be afraid of them.”

“I do not think you would find that they despised you if you came there as my guest,” answered the Princess, gravely.

Dorothea’s eyes rounded once more. There seemed to be nothing but surprises in store for her to-day.

“Pardon me, Madam, but you have not—you did not tell me—”

“My name is Hermengarde. I am the King’s aunt.” And she lay back in her chair to see how the young girl would take the announcement.

Dorothea’s first feeling was one of dismay. All these startling events coming one upon another had completely unsettled her mind. She felt herself being gradually swept out of her depth. The old peaceful life of childhood was over, and she was being called upon to go forth into the world under circumstances of trial and danger of which she had never had any conception.

She directed an earnest, imploring gaze at the Princess, as if asking whether she could throw herself upon her for sincere and friendly counsel. Then she said—

“I hardly know how to speak to your Royal Highness. I am afraid that you must think me very presumptuous. I hope you believe that I never knew it was his Majesty.”

Hermengarde looked at her graciously, not ill pleased at the evident awe she had excited.

“I do not think you are presumptuous in the least, my dear. On the contrary, if I found any fault with you, it would be that you are too shy, and have not enough confidence in yourself. For instance, when you are speaking to me on a friendly footing like this, it is quite unnecessary to call me ‘your Royal Highness.’ Address me simply as ‘Madam,’ or ‘Princess.’ And in the same way, you need only say ‘Sire’ to the King. It is only by servants, or on occasions of ceremony, that the formal titles are used. You see, I am giving you your first lesson in Court manners already, because I mean you to accept my invitation; and I wish you to be at home in the Castle.”

“Thank you—Madam.”

“That is right.”

“And you are not offended with me for having let the King come here, and give me presents?”

“Certainly not. I blame my nephew for deceiving you, because, though I am sure he had no ill intentions, he ought to have foreseen that the matter would be regarded in an unfavourable light by people generally, and that he was exposing you to unjust remarks.”

Poor Dorothea! The recollection of Johann’s words gave point to the observations of the Princess. She turned to her with looks of misery.

“Oh, Madam! And do people think—are they saying—such horrible things? What shall I do?”

“It is precisely on this account that I have come here,” answered Hermengarde, assuming a comforting tone. “I desire to protect you from evil tongues, by taking you into my own household. No man, whoever he may be, is a fitting adviser for a girl, like one of her own sex. So long as you stay in this cottage you are at the mercy of Maximilian’s good feelings, in which you ought not to blindly trust. Come and make your home with me, and the King will be compelled to adopt an honourable course towards you. What that will be, it is not for me to say. And the mere fact that I have given you my friendship will instantly silence any malicious slanders that may be abroad.”

Dorothea attempted to express her gratitude, but the stress of her emotions overcame her all at once, and before Hermengarde knew what she was doing, the forester’s child had flung herself down at the feet of the Princess, and bowed her golden head in the proud, stern-minded woman’s lap.

For a moment a soft look came into Hermengarde’s eyes, such as they had not known for many a year, and she murmured gently—

“Poor girl, poor girl!”

In another instant her face had resumed its usual cold expression. She stooped and raised Dorothea from the ground, getting up herself at the same time.

“There, my child, be still. You have a friend in me, whatever happens. And my friendship is not given to everybody. Now I will leave you to think over my offer; only let me give you one caution, do not discuss the matter with anybody else. It is a thing which you must decide for yourself, without help. If you make up your mind to come to me, do not wait, but present yourself at the Castle at any time, and I shall be ready and pleased to welcome you. Till then, good-bye.”

The agitated young girl could only stammer fresh words of thanks as she took up the lamp and ushered her visitor to the door. She was going to walk further with her, to point out the way, but the Princess stopped her.

“Do not come out, child. I can find my way back from here. Good night.”

And without waiting for the farewells of the grateful Dorothea, she hastened forward to the spot where she had left her guide.

As soon as the Castle was in sight Hermengarde turned to the favourite and handed him a generous bribe.

“I shall not forget you, Karl,” she said. “And remember that silence and discretion will double the value of your services.”

Karl accepted the money greedily enough, and stole away to his own quarters, while the Princess returned to her apartments absorbed in thought.

And this time she made no attempt to enter into communication with the Chancellor on the subject of the step she had seen fit to take.