CHAPTER XVI. A CROWD IN THE KONIGSTRASSE
The project that had taken shape in the thoughts of Mr.
Rassendyll's servant, and had inflamed Sapt's daring mind as the
dropping of a spark kindles dry shavings, had suggested itself
vaguely to more than one of us in Strelsau. We did not indeed
coolly face and plan it, as the little servant had, nor seize on
it at once with an eagerness to be convinced of its necessity,
like the Constable of Zenda; but it was there in my mind,
sometimes figuring as a dread, sometimes as a hope, now seeming
the one thing to be avoided, again the only resource against a
more disastrous issue. I knew that it was in Bernenstein's
thoughts no less than in my own; for neither of us had been able
to form any reasonable scheme by which the living king, whom half
Strelsau now knew to be in the 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 one cost: the truth, or the
better part of it, must be told, and every tongue set wagging
with gossip and guesses concerning Rudolf Rassendyll and his
relations with the queen. Who that knows what men and women are
would not have shrunk from that alternative? To adopt it was to
expose the queen to all or nearly all the peril she had run by
the loss of the letter. We indeed assumed, influenced by Rudolf's
unhesitating self-confidence, that the letter would be won back,
and the mouth of Rupert of Hentzau shut; but enough would remain
to furnish material for 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, and hinted it to one
another--my wife to me, I to Bernenstein, and he to me--in quick
glances and half uttered sentences that declared its presence
while shunning the open confession of it. For the queen herself I
cannot speak. Her thoughts, as I judged them, were bounded by the
longing to see Mr. Rassendyll again, and dwelt on the visit that
he promised as the horizon of hope. To Rudolf we had dared to
disclose nothing of the part our imaginations set him to play: if
he were to accept it, the acceptance would be of his own act,
because the fate that old Sapt talked of drove him, and on no
persuasion of ours. As he had said, he left the rest, and had
centered all his efforts on the immediate task which fell to his
hand to perform, the task that was to be accomplished at the
dingy old house in the Konigstrasse. We were indeed awake to the
fact that even Rupert's death would not make the secret safe.
Rischenheim, although for the moment a prisoner and helpless, was
alive and could not be mewed up for ever; Bauer was we knew not
where, free to act and free to talk. Yet in our hearts we feared
none but Rupert, and the doubt was not whether we could do the
thing so much as whether we should. For in moments of excitement
and intense feeling a man makes light of obstacles which look
large enough as 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
idle crowd to disperse reluctantly. Rudolf himself had entered
one of my carriages and driven off. He started not towards the
Konigstrasse, but in the opposite direction: I supposed that he
meant to approach his destination by a circuitous way, hoping to
gain it without attracting notice. The queen's carriage was still
before my door, for it had been arranged 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 she sat alone, and
asked if it were her pleasure to start at once. I found her
thoughtful but calm. She listened to me; then, rising, she said,
"Yes, I will go." But then she asked suddenly, "Where is the
Count of Luzau-Rischenheim?"
I told her how Bernenstein kept guard over the count in the room
at the back 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
talk to him, but nobody else."
I did not know what she intended, but I saw no reason to oppose
her wishes, and I was glad to find for her any means of employing
this time of suspense. I obeyed her commands and brought
Rischenheim to her. He followed me slowly and reluctantly; his
unstable mind had again jumped from rashness to despondency: he
was pale and uneasy, and, when he found himself in her presence,
the bravado of his bearing, maintained before Bernenstein, gave
place to a shamefaced sullenness. He could not meet the grave
eyes that she fixed on him.
I withdrew to the farther end of the room; but it was small, and
I heard all that passed. I had my revolver ready to cover
Rischenheim in case he should be moved to make a dash for
liberty. But he was past that: Rupert's presence was a tonic that
nerved him to effort and to confidence, but the force of the last
dose was gone and the man was sunk again to his natural
irresolution.
"My lord," she began gently, motioning him to sit, "I have
desired to speak with you, because I do not wish a gentleman of
your rank to think too much evil of his queen. Heaven has willed
that my secret should be to you no secret, and therefore I may
speak plainly. You may say my own shame should silence me; I
speak to lessen my shame in your eyes, if I can."
Rischenheim looked up with a dull gaze, not understanding her
mood. He had expected reproaches, and met low-voiced apology.
"And yet," she went on, "it is because of me that the king lies
dead now; and a faithful humble fellow also, caught in the net of
my unhappy fortunes, has given his life for me, though he didn't
know it. Even while we speak, it may be that a gentleman, not too
old yet to learn nobility, may be killed in my quarrel; while
another, whom I alone of all that know him may not praise,
carries his life lightly in his hand for me. And to you, my lord,
I have done the wrong of dressing a harsh deed in some cloak of
excuse, making you seem to serve the king in working my
punishment."
Rischenheim's eyes fell to the ground, and he twisted his hands
nervously in and out, the one about the other. I took my hand
from my revolver: he would not move now.
"I don't know," she went on, now almost dreamily, and as though
she spoke more to herself than to him, or had even forgotten his
presence, "what end in Heaven's counsel my great unhappiness has
served. Perhaps I, 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 my temptation, 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 of blood is on my soul--even
the face of my dear love I can see now only through its scarlet
mist; so that if what seemed my perfect joy were now granted me,
it would come spoilt and stained and blotched."
She paused, fixing her eyes on him again; but he neither spoke
nor moved.
"You knew my sin," she said, "the sin so great in my heart; and
you knew how little my acts yielded to it. Did you think, my
lord, that the sin had no punishment, that you took it in hand to
add shame to my suffering? Was Heaven so kind that men must
temper its indulgence by their severity? Yet I know that because
I was wrong, you, being wrong, might seem to yourself not wrong,
and in aiding your kinsman might plead that you served the king's
honor. Thus, my lord, I was the cause in you of a deed that your
heart could not welcome nor your honor praise. I thank God that
you have come to no more hurt by it."
Rischenheim began to mutter in a low thick voice, his eyes still
cast down: "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
such persuasions 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 all of mine ask no better than to die for your Majesty."
"She knows, and yet she loves me," repeated the queen. I loved to
see that she seemed to find comfort in Helga's love. It is women
to whom women 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
Rassendyll had 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
with me?"
"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't stand 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
some things that most people do not know, madam." She turned on
me with dignity, 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 lay in her calling me "my lord," for, save on formal
occasions, she always used 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
his word, given to me."
Rischenheim looked at her and seemed about to address her, but
then he turned 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
lighten the burden on me no less by your help than because I no
longer feel your honor stained through me. Come, we will go to
the palace." And she went to him, saying, "We will go together."
There was nothing for it but to trust him. I knew that I could
not turn her.
"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 a moment, 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 be examining his revolver with sedulous care.
"You can put that away," said I rather peevishly--I had not
fancied shaking hands with Rischenheim. "He's not a prisoner any
longer. He's one 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's instrument to be her servant.
"I suppose he'll stick to it," I ended; and I thought he would,
though I was not eager for his help.
A light gleamed in Bernenstein's eyes, and I felt a tremble in
the hand that 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 the only man, save Rupert himself, who knew the truth, the
only man who threatened that great scheme which more and more
filled our thoughts and grew upon us with an increasing force of
attraction as every obstacle to it seemed to be cleared out of
the way. But I would not look at Bernenstein, fearing to
acknowledge even with my eyes how my mind jumped with 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
I was forced to look him in the face. Then he smiled, and even
laughed a little.
"Only Bauer now!" said he.
"And Rupert," I remarked sourly.
"Oh, Rupert's dead bones by now," he chuckled, and with that he
went out of the hall door and announced the queen's approach to
her servants. It must be said for young Bernenstein that he was a
cheerful fellow-conspirator. His equanimity almost matched
Rudolf's own; I could not rival it myself.
I drove to the palace with the queen and my wife, the other two
following in a second carriage. I do not know what they said to
one another on the way, but Bernenstein was civil enough to his
companion when I rejoined them. With us my wife was the principal
speaker: she filled up, from what Rudolf had told her, the gaps
in our knowledge of how he had spent his night in Strelsau, and
by the time we arrived we were fully informed in every detail.
The queen said little. The impulse which had dictated her appeal
to Rischenheim and carried her through it seemed to have died
away; she had become again subject to fears and apprehension. I
saw her uneasiness when she suddenly put out her hand and 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 any news of our absent chief (so I call him--as such we
all, from the queen herself, then regarded him). She did not
speak of him again; but her eyes seemed to follow me about as
though she were silently asking some service of me; what it was I
could not understand. Bernenstein had disappeared, and the
repentant count with him: knowing they were together, I was in no
uneasiness; Bernenstein would see that his companion contrived no
treachery. But I was puzzled by the queen's tacit appeal. And I
was myself on fire for news from the Konigstrasse. It was now
two hours since Rudolf Rassendyll had left us, and no word had
come of him or from him. At last I could bear it no longer. The
queen was sitting with her hand in my wife's; I had been seated
on the other side of 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 the room to where they were.
"Have you need of my presence, madam, or have I your permission
to be away 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
endured it longer. But I wouldn't ask you to go. But go, my dear
friend, go and bring 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 tried to smile at the queen, as though she risked me
willingly.
"I could have been such a wife, Fritz," whispered the queen.
"Yes, I could."
I had nothing to say; at the moment I might not have been able to
say it if I had. There is something in the helpless courage of
women that makes me feel soft. We can work and fight; they sit
and wait. Yet they do not flinch. Now I know that if I had to sit
and think about the thing I should turn cur.
Well, I went, leaving them there together. I put on plain clothes
instead of my uniform, and dropped my revolver into the pocket of
my coat. Thus prepared, I slipped out and made my way on foot to
the Konigstrasse.
It was now long past midday, but many folks were at their dinner
and the streets were not full. Two or three people recognized me,
but I passed by almost unnoticed. There was no sign of stir or
excitement, and the flags still floated high in the wind. Sapt
had kept his secret; the men of Strelsau thought still that their
king lived and was among them. I feared that Rudolf's coming
would have been seen, and expected to find a crowd of people near
the house. But when I reached it there were no more than ten or a
dozen idle fellows lounging about. I began to stroll up and 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
the restaurants. The loafers before No. 19 spoke to many of them.
Some said, "Indeed?" shook their heads, smiled and passed on:
they had no time to waste in staring at the king. But many
waited; lighting their cigars or cigarettes or pipes, they stood
gossiping with one another, looking at their watches now and
again, lest they should overstay their leisure. Thus the assembly
grew to the number of a couple of hundred. I ceased my walk, for
the pavement was too crowded, and hung on the outskirts of the
throng. As I loitered there, a cigar in my mouth, I felt a hand
on my shoulder. Turning round, I saw the lieutenant. He was in
uniform. By his side was Rischenheim.
"You're here too, are you?" said I. "Well, nothing seems to be
happening, does it?"
For No. 19 showed no sign of life. The shutters were up, the door
closed; the little shop was not open for business that day.
Bernenstein shook his head with a smile. His companion took no
heed of my remark; he was evidently in a state of great
agitation, and his eyes never left the door of the house. I was
about to address him, when my attention 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
pulled down low over his forehead, but nevertheless beneath its
rim there appeared a white bandage running round his head. I
could not see the face, but the bullet-shaped skull was very
familiar to me. I was sure from the first moment that the
bandaged man was Bauer. Saying nothing to Bernenstein, I began to
steal round outside the crowd. As I went, I heard 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 reference to one of the
first loungers; he replied that he did not know what the devil
the king did there, but that the king or his double had certainly
gone in, and had as certainly not yet come out again. I wished I
could have made myself known to them and persuaded them to go
away; but my presence would have outweighed my declarations, and
been taken as a sure sign that the king was in the house. So I
kept on the outskirts and worked my way unobtrusively towards the
bandaged head. Evidently Bauer's hurt had not been so serious as
to prevent him leaving the infirmary to which the police had
carried him: he was come now to await, even as I was awaiting,
the issue of Rudolf's visit to the house in the Konigstrasse.
He had not seen me, for he was looking at No. 19 as intently as
Rischenheim. Apparently neither had caught sight of the other, or
Rischenheim would have shown some embarrassment, Bauer some
excitement. I wormed my way quickly towards my former servant. My
mind was full of the idea of getting hold of him. I could not
forget Bernenstein's remark, "Only Bauer now!" If I could secure
Bauer we were safe. Safe in what? 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, we here 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, would clear
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 came there with a space between arm and body. I slipped in
my left arm and hooked 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. He found himself tightly held.
"Where's that bag of mine?" I asked.
I do not know what he would have answered, for at this instant
there came a sound from behind the closed door of the house. It
was as if some one ran rapidly and eagerly towards the door. Then
came an oath in a shrill voice, a woman's voice, but harsh and
rough. It was answered by an angry cry in a girl's intonation.
Full of eagerness, I drew my arm from Bauer's and sprang forward.
I heard a chuckle from him and turned round, to see his bandaged
head retreating rapidly down the street. I had 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 their way, and
paying no attention to abuse or remonstrances. They were the
lieutenant and Rischenheim. Without a moment's hesitation I set
myself to push and battle a way through, thinking to join them in
front. On they went, and on I went. All gave place before us in
surly reluctance or frightened willingness. We three were
together in the first rank of the crowd when the door of the
house was flung open, and a girl ran out. 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 instant grew
as if by magic to three times its former size, and, little
knowing what she did, she cried in the eager accents of sheer
terror:
"Help, help! The king! The king!"
