"Steinbach, I want you to answer me truthfully. Do not evade the
question for fear of annoying me. Speak openly, as the friend you are
to me. I wish to know one thing," and she lowered her voice until it
almost faltered. "Have you heard a--well, a scandal concerning myself?"
He made no answer.
She repeated her question; her veiled face turned to his.
"Your Highness only a few moments ago expressed a desire not to discuss
the matter," he replied in a low, distinct voice.
"But I want to know," she urged. "I must know. Tell me the truth. If
you are my friend you will at least be frank with me when I command."
"If you command, Princess, then I must obey, even with reluctance," was
his response. "Yes. I have heard some gossip. It is spoken openly in
Court by the _dames du palais_, and is now being whispered among the
people."
She held her breath. Fortunately, it was dark, for she knew that her
countenance had gone crimson.
"Well?" she asked. "And what do they say of me?"
"They, unfortunately, couple your Highness's name with that of Count
Leitolf, the chief of the private cabinet of his Majesty," was his low
answer.
"Yes," she said in a toneless voice. "And what more?"
"They say that Major Scheel, attache at the Embassy in Paris, recognised
you driving with the Count in the Avenue de l'Opera, when you were
supposed to be at Aix-les-Bains with the little Princess Ignatia."
"Yes. Go on."
"They say, too, that he follows you everywhere--and that your maid
Henriette helps you to leave the palace in secret to meet him."
She heard his words, and her white lips trembled.
"They also declare," he went on in a low voice, "that your love of the
country is only because you are able to meet him without any one
knowing, that your journey here to Vienna is on account of him--that he
has followed you here."
She nodded, without uttering a word.
"The Count has, no doubt, followed your Highness, indiscreetly if I may
say so, for I recognised him last night dining alone at Breying's."
"He did not see you?" she exclaimed anxiously.
"No. I took good care not to be seen. I had no desire that my journey
here should be known, or I should be suspected. I return to-night at
midnight."
"And to be frank, Steinbach, you believe that all this has reached my
husband's ears?" she whispered in a hard, strained voice.
"All that is detrimental to your Highness reaches the Crown Prince," was
his reply to the breathless woman, "and certainly not without
embellishments. That is why I implore of you to be circumspect--why I
am here to tell you of the plot to disgrace you in the people's eyes."
"But the people themselves are now speaking of--of the Count?" she said
in a low, uncertain voice, quite changed from her previous musical tones
when first they met.
"A scandal--and especially a Court one--very soon spreads among the
people. The royal servants gossip outside the palace, and moreover your
Highness's many enemies are only too delighted to assist in spreading
such reports. It gives motive for the Crown Prince's estrangement."
Her head was bent, her hands were trembling. The iron had entered her
soul.
The people--the people whom she so dearly loved, and who had waved their
hands and shouted those glad welcomes to her as she drove out--were now
whispering of Leitolf.
She bit her lip, and her countenance went pale as death as the truth
arose before her in all its hideous ghastliness.
Even the man at her side, the humble man who had stood by her as her
friend, knew that Leitolf was there--in Vienna--to be near her. Even
Steinbach could have no further respect for her as a woman--only respect
because she was one day to be his sovereign.
Her hands were clenched; she held her breath, and shivered as the chill
wind cut through her. She longed to be back in her father's palace; to
be alone in her room to think.
"And nothing more?" she asked in that same blank voice which now caused
her companion to wonder.
"Only that they say evil of you that is not worth repeating," was his
brief answer.
She sighed again, and then when she had sufficiently recovered from the
effect of his words, she whispered in a low voice,--
"I--I can only thank you, Steinbach, for giving me this warning.
Forgive me if--if I am somewhat upset by it--but I am a woman--and
perhaps it is only natural. Trust me to say nothing. Leave Vienna
to-night and return home. If you ever wish to communicate with me write
guardedly, making an appointment, and address your letter to Madame
Emond at the Poste Restante in Brussels. You will recollect the name?"
"Most certainly I shall, your Highness. I can only ask pardon for
speaking so openly. But it was at your request."
"Do not let us mention it further," she urged, her white lips again
compressed. "Leave me now. It is best that I should walk down yonder
to the Parkring alone."