GAVIN and St. Arnaud remained in the little anteroom awaiting the
summons to the Empress Queen. Gavin sat quite silent. A resolve that
had taken possession of him filled his heart as well as his mind. He
dared not mention it to St. Arnaud, for fear of his disapproval--and
Gavin loved St. Arnaud so much that he could not bear to oppose
him--but his resolution was unshakable. St. Arnaud, brought up in
palaces and inured to royalty, yet felt something like agitation at
meeting the celebrated woman whose courage and constancy had withstood
the greatest captain of the age, Frederick of Prussia, for more than
sixteen years. But he, too, remained silent, and in a short half hour
the aide returned, and after leading them through a maze of splendid
corridors and noble apartments, he showed them into a small and simply
furnished room, where the Emperor Francis sat alone.
The Emperor rose at once; for it was the custom of Francis of Lorraine
to observe a charming simplicity toward all with whom he was brought
in contact. As consort of a great and popular sovereign in her own
right, he chose rather to give her all precedence, and took but little
ostensible share in the government. He adopted the rôle of the husband
and father only, well knowing that the jealous and varied peoples
composing the Austro-Hungarian empire would resent any open share in
the government; and although the Empress Queen relied much on his
excellent sense and judgment, she was herself the ruler of her people.
Gavin watched St. Arnaud’s way of responding to the approaches of
royalty, and followed him closely. There could have been no better
example, as St. Arnaud, while perfectly respectful, was far from
servile. The easy affability of the Emperor put them entirely at their
ease, and in a few moments the door opened and the Empress Queen walked
in.
The nearer view of Maria Theresa was still more pleasing and impressive
than seeing her at a distance. Her commanding talents, and the lofty
dignity which she naturally acquired as a reigning sovereign in her own
right, were adorned by a beautiful feminine softness. The woman who was
not afraid to face Frederick the Great, with his warrior army, was
likewise gentle, considerate, and engaging.
Unlike Frederick, who valued men solely for their intellectual
qualities, Maria Theresa trusted much to the excellence of their
hearts, and, consequently, where one was feared, the other was loved.
The Emperor, who scrupulously observed the deference due his wife’s
rank, rose and remained standing until the Empress Queen had seated
herself. Then turning to St. Arnaud, as the eldest, she said:
“I and the Emperor have been much pleased to hear of the escape of you
and your brother officer from Glatz. I shall need every man who can
carry a sword in the next campaign. Will you tell us the particulars of
your capture? And meanwhile, pray be seated.”
St. Arnaud promptly began his relation. He told the circumstances of
Gavin and himself meeting after Rosbach, and was careful to say that
but for that meeting he would have perished on that November night. He
then described their going to the country house, their finding there a
lady travelling with only a servant--Madame Ziska.
“Madame Ziska!” cried the Empress Queen, turning to the Emperor. “No
one has told me of this. You must know,” she added, to St. Arnaud and
Gavin, “that Madame Ziska is highly respected here, and I selected
her on account of her good sense and discretion, as well as her
accomplishments, to teach dancing to our children.”
“We can testify, your Majesty, to her excellent heart as well as her
admirable mind, for it was she who conveyed the money to us which made
our escape possible,” replied St. Arnaud.
He then described their evening with her, and the sudden appearance of
the King of Prussia. At the mention of the name of her great enemy,
Maria Theresa coloured deeply. She not only opposed Frederick as the
enemy of her country, but she resented his conduct to her as a woman;
and when that part of the narrative was reached in which St. Arnaud
described Frederick’s indifference to their fate next day, after their
evening of jolly companionship, she smiled contemptuously.
But she smiled with the utmost graciousness when St. Arnaud said:
“We both refused the parole offered us, because we could not bring
ourselves to accept any favour that would prevent us from drawing our
swords in the service of your Majesty.”
At this Gavin broke forth, his colour rising, his eyes moist, and his
voice ringing with emotion:
“But, your Majesty, although I would fight for you to the last drop of
my blood I have no sword to draw, unless you, out of your goodness,
give me one; for I am but a private soldier. He”--pointing to St.
Arnaud--“was too generous to tell it of me, but I was only a private
in the ranks of Dufour’s regiment, in which he was a captain. I am a
gentleman, however, and I stand up and say to all the world I am not
unworthy to wear an officer’s sword in the army of any sovereign on
earth!”
Gavin suddenly choked, and turning to St. Arnaud, cried:
“Tell it for me, St. Arnaud, for I cannot,” and walked away to a window
to hide his agitation.
St. Arnaud was somewhat disconcerted at Gavin’s outbreak, but in
response to a word of inquiry from the Empress Queen replied:
“What he says is true. He is the son of Sir Gavin Hamilton, who
has ill-used him and his mother, and this young man was forced to
take service in the ranks. But he is well educated, as your Majesty
perceives by his language, and that he has the character and feelings
of a gentleman is proved by his treatment of his father. For when Sir
Gavin Hamilton offered him everything, provided he would abandon his
mother, this youth refused, and chose rather poverty and obscurity than
to cast dishonour upon his mother, who is Sir Gavin’s true and lawful
wife.”
The Emperor, at this, said calmly:
“I heard only a few moments before you entered this room that the young
man was Sir Gavin’s son. Sir Gavin is at present in Vienna. Although
England has left the ranks of our allies to join our enemies, yet, by
mutual arrangement, citizens of one country are not obliged to leave
the other until a fixed period. Sir Gavin has availed himself of this
provision, and even appears at court as usual. I was told by Captain
von Rosen that when you appeared riding in the cart at the end of the
parade, Sir Gavin said to him: ‘The younger man is my son, but not my
heir.’ I determined to inquire into the matter.”
Gavin, at this, came from his retreat in the window, and cried:
“Sir Gavin might have said that to Baron von Rosen, but if he ever said
so much to me, I would use my two fists on him as I did once before.
For, your Majesty, such words are a reflection on my mother; and no
man that lives, be he my father ten thousand times over, shall say one
word against my mother without my doing him the worst injury I can in
return for it. My mother is Lady Hamilton, and Sir Gavin admitted it
when he threatened me with divorcing my mother, after having abandoned
her many years ago. But I defied him to do it, and he dares not attempt
it. Nor will my mother be driven or frightened into a divorce; for she
is a brave lady, and will not do anything that may one day impair my
rights or my standing.”
The Empress Queen listened with shining eyes. To no one could an appeal
to the feelings be made more safely than to Maria Theresa.
“How does life repeat itself!” she said. “Here is this mother, who
holds tenaciously to her rights for her child’s sake--for I believe
every word you have told me. So do I hold on to all my rights, when
the King of Prussia would ravage them from me, determined to transmit
to my son his heritage unimpaired. Nor is it lost on me,” she said,
turning to Gavin, with the sweetest smile--“the son who is faithful to
his mother in poverty and obscurity, rather than to the father in power
and splendour. Therefore, you may look to me as a friend. You say you
are a private soldier. Captain St. Arnaud says you are anxious to be
an officer. Before this day is over you shall have a sublieutenant’s
commission in my army.”
Gavin stood silent, stunned by his good fortune.
“And,” added the Emperor, “I will give you the sword that her Majesty
deems you worthy to wear.”
Going to a cabinet in the room, he unlocked it, and revealed a number
of handsome swords suitable for various occasions. Selecting one, a
light but elegant blade, he handed it to the Empress Queen with much
grace, saying:
“He will value it more from your hand.”
The joy in Gavin’s face when, dropping upon his knee, he received the
sword from Maria Theresa transfigured him. It meant honour, glory, the
recognition of his honourable birth--all of those things most precious
to him and which had seemed so hopelessly far away. He kissed the hilt
of the sword reverently as he received it, but he could not speak. He
bowed low to the Emperor, and then suddenly turning to St. Arnaud--his
happiness overcoming his usually acquired habits of restraint--and
seizing him, kissed and hugged him violently.
This natural abandon, which would have offended many sovereigns,
touched and also amused the Empress Queen; and when Gavin recovered
himself, and stood, blushing and appalled at his breach of etiquette,
both Maria Theresa and the Emperor Francis were laughing heartily. The
sight of Gavin’s face, flushed and sparkling, his mouth quivering, yet
full of smiles, the boyish dimples in his cheek showing, and his lithe,
strong body trembling with happiness, appealed to the exquisitely human
heart of Maria Theresa. She saw in him a soul capable of the greatest
devotion to her.
“Your commission will be sent you to-day, Lieutenant Hamilton,” she
said, with an air of the utmost sweetness; “and you, Captain St.
Arnaud, will have your wishes fulfilled in any way possible.”
Then, with a graceful bow of dismissal, she rose from her chair. St.
Arnaud, with a few appropriate words of gratitude, bowed himself out,
followed by Gavin. But before the door closed the Empress Queen and the
Emperor heard Gavin’s eager whisper, as he said:
“That noble queen and lady won’t forget us by to-morrow morning, as
the King Of Prussia did;” which speech by no means hurt Gavin in the
opinion of the imperial pair. Another person that heard him was Count
Derschau, who awaited them outside the door.
St. Arnaud was well versed in courts, and foreseeing that Gavin would
always be saying and doing unconventional things, he concluded to let
the imperial circle understand that the Empress Queen and the Emperor
were pleased with Gavin’s _naïveté_--and when sovereigns are pleased,
courtiers dare not find fault. He, therefore, began to tell, in his
calm and easy manner, of Gavin’s late behaviour, and their majesties’
reception of it, at which Gavin blushed and Count Derschau shouted with
laughter.
They were then passing along a gallery from which they could look
down into a large, square room with a polished floor, where the royal
children were assembled, with their governess, for their dancing
lesson. A couple of fiddlers were turning up, when the door opened and
in walked Madame Ziska.
Gavin was like to have leaped over the railing of the gallery in his
delight and surprise at the unexpected meeting, and St. Arnaud said at
once to Count Derschau:
“Would it be contrary to custom if we should speak to that lady who is
entering? She is the one who assisted us so materially in our escape.
We could not have got out without her.”
“Certainly,” responded Count Derschau. “You must know, monsieur, that
this is a court where all that is natural and simple prevails. Besides
the cares of empire, her Majesty has the welfare of her ten children at
heart, as much as any house mother in her empire. The Emperor is the
same; and so, although the Imperial Court does not, as you perceive,
lack dignity, yet it is less trammelled by etiquette than any court in
Europe. It is like one great family, of which the Empress Queen and
Emperor are mother and father to us all.”
Count Derschau led them down a stairway which opened upon the
dancing-room, and advancing to the lady in charge of the royal
children, presented St. Arnaud and Gavin, with the request that they
might speak to Madame Ziska; to which she at once agreed.
Madame Ziska was at the end of the large room on her knees before the
little two-year-old Archduchess Marie Antoinette, that lovely and most
unfortunate princess, whose fair head was one day to fall beneath the
axe of the guillotine. She was too young to be regularly taught to
dance, but Madame Ziska, leading her by her tiny hand, and singing
softly to her, she made little steps, and laughed in baby glee at her
own performance.
But hearing familiar voices, Madame Ziska turned, and flying forward,
the next moment she had grasped Gavin and St. Arnaud each by a hand,
and was laughing and crying with pleasure at seeing them.
“Where should we have been without you!” cried Gavin, squeezing her
hand with rapture.
“In the prison at Glatz, eating our miserable hearts out,” answered St.
Arnaud. “And the money--a hundred ducats--oh, what a fortune it was to
us!”
“It was nothing, if it served to release two brave men to fight for the
Empress Queen; for let me tell you, you must be hers, body and soul, as
I am.”
“We are--we are. Wait until we tell you of our interview with her
Majesty just now,” replied Gavin, with all his heart shining in his
eyes.
“I long to speak with you,” said Madame Ziska, “but I must now give the
archdukes and archduchesses their dancing lesson. Come to my house--in
the Teinfeltstrasse--you can easily find it--at five o’clock, and
remain to supper with my husband, my children, and me. We will talk all
night, that I promise you.”
Making a low bow to the lady in charge, Madame Ziska then began her
task, while Derschau, with St. Arnaud and Gavin, withdrew.
“Madame Ziska is well known and highly respected in Vienna, as you
may judge by her being dancing mistress to the imperial children,”
said Derschau. “She is also first dancer at the opera. She is the
wife of Count Kalenga, an Hungarian nobleman. Ziska is only her stage
name. He married her, to the ruin of his worldly prospects. He was
disinherited by his family for it, and Madame Ziska’s profession and
her humble origin made it impossible for her to be recognized in
Viennese society. Nevertheless, they lived very happily together upon
the small remnant of his fortune that remained to them until about
four years ago. Kalenga, who was one of the handsomest men in the
world, became a hopeless paralytic. Madame Ziska, who has retained, as
you see, her youth and grace, returned to the stage, and by her own
exertions maintains her husband and family, giving Kalenga all the
comforts that his sad condition requires. The Empress Queen, who is
herself the best of wives and mothers, determined to encourage Madame
Ziska by employing her as dancing mistress to the imperial children. As
you see, although of humble birth, she is far superior to most of her
profession. Her husband has educated her, and to-day she is one of the
most accomplished women in Vienna.”
“We know it,” replied St. Arnaud. “Her conversation charmed the King of
Prussia, and the tender, womanly interest she took in two strangers and
prisoners showed that her sympathies were large enough to go beyond the
narrow circle of her family.”
They were then arrived at the small door of the palace by which they
had entered, and Derschau bade them a courteous farewell, after
engaging to receive the promised commission for Gavin, and keep it
until he called for it next day.
Five o’clock found them before the door of a comfortable house in the
Teinfeltstrasse. The door was opened by Madame Ziska herself, who led
them to a pleasant room opening into a garden. Through the glass they
could see Count Kalenga, muffled up, and sitting in a wheel-chair. Two
handsome boys of ten and twelve were pushing the chair to a sheltered
spot warmed by the last rays of the setting sun, two younger girls
leaning on their father’s lap; he was evidently telling them a story,
to which all four were listening. The scene touched both Gavin and St.
Arnaud, who knew the story of the man so physically afflicted, but so
blessed with the devotion of a wife and children.
“Derschau has told you my story and my husband’s, I know,” said
Madame Ziska good-humouredly. “He is a pleasant fellow, but a great
gossip--everybody knows everything that Derschau knows. But seeing my
husband, even as he is now”--she pointed to Count Kalenga, who was
being wheeled toward the house by the two boys--and her soft eyes
filled with tears, “are you surprised that a young and tender-hearted
girl should have married him? The time came when I reproached myself
bitterly for having done it, after I saw that it cost him his fortune
and most of his association with his equals. But if he ever regretted
it, he was too noble to let me suspect it. And when his affliction
came upon him, could I ever do enough to show my devotion to him? Ah,
do you wonder that I try to make myself his companion by reading, by
studying--that every moment I spend away from him I grudge? Yet it is
sweetened by the thought that I am labouring for him and our children.
And at the opera, when the idle young men throw me bouquets and write
verses to me, my only thought is, ‘It will make my husband smile’--it
amuses him very much; and when I find a jewel in a bouquet I very
quickly exchange it for something to make his lot more comfortable.”
She rose while she was speaking, and opening the door, the chair was
rolled in.
As Madame Ziska said, a view of her husband made it quite plain why
he won the heart of a young and impressionable girl. His countenance,
still handsome, was full of candour and intelligence, and his figure,
in spite of his dreadful affliction, retained its military uprightness.
The little girls, Gretchen and Freda, unfastened his cloak and removed
his fur cap and gloves, while the lads, Franz and Carl, well trained
and polite, stood silent near him, ready to be of service.
“You know who these friends are, Franz,” said Madame Ziska to Count
Kalenga. St. Arnaud and Gavin shook hands cordially with Kalenga, who
greeted them with the utmost grace and kindness. The children were then
dismissed, and Madame Ziska, drawing her chair to the fire, said:
“Thank heaven I do not go to the opera to-night. We will have
supper here, and you shall tell us all your adventures. But first,
mother-like, I must see to your comfort. Have you lodgings yet?”
“No, we have not thought of it yet.”
“The floor above us is vacant, and is reasonable in price.”
“If you say so, engage it for us. We will obey you as little Franz and
Carl do.”
“Very well. Now tell us all--all--all.”
St. Arnaud and Gavin, both talking at once, plunged in and gave an
account of all they had passed through since parting at the gates of
Glatz on the moonlight night two months before. St. Arnaud told about
Bettina’s unflattering behaviour to them at separating, and Madame
Ziska screamed with laughter, saying:
“I am glad my niece knows so well how to take care of herself;” to
which Count Kalenga added, smiling:
“She has inherited some of my wife’s spirit, for many times, when I was
a presumptuous young officer, and she was the object of my devotion,
I came perilously near having my ears boxed. I think, however,”
he continued, turning to Madame Ziska with an air of affectionate
deference, “that all the women of your family have remarkable propriety
of bearing, and exact respect from all.”
Madame Ziska coloured with pleasure at this.
Supper was brought, and the whole party grew merry, even Kalenga. The
enthusiasm with which the Empress Queen had filled St. Arnaud and Gavin
was deeply gratifying to their hosts, and Gavin’s solemn promise that
the sword given him by Maria Theresa was forever at the service of her
and her family, was but a just acknowledgment of his obligations to her.
“You should have seen her as I did, at Presburg, in 1741, when she won
the hearts of all Hungarians,” said Kalenga, leaning forward in his
chair, his eyes sparkling, and his hand involuntarily reaching for the
sword, no longer at his side, that he had worn so many years in the
service of the Empress Queen. “She was then but twenty-four-years old,
and the handsomest woman of her time. On the day of her coronation,
when she rode gallantly up the Sacred Mount wearing the tattered robe
of St. Stephen over her splendid habit, the iron crown of St. Stephen
on her head, and, drawing St. Stephen’s sword, defied the four corners
of the earth, she was sovereign of the hearts of all who saw her. But
greater still was she when she entered the Hall of the Diet, wearing
the Hungarian dress, in deep mourning, and the same crown and sword of
St. Stephen. Never can any who lived that hour of glorious patriotism
forget it. She was the picture of majesty, fearless and unappalled,
when, standing upon her throne, she recounted to us, the assembled
nobles of Hungary, all the dangers that menaced her, and her sole
defence lay in the loyalty and generosity of her Hungarian people. The
King of Prussia, when he attacked her kingdom, openly counted upon her
timidity as a young and inexperienced princess. Young and inexperienced
she was--but no man ever made so great a mistake as Frederick when he
reckoned upon the timidity of Maria Theresa. She had ever the courage
of a hundred kings in her woman’s heart. So did she inspire us on that
never-to-be-forgotten day, that as one man we rose, and with shouts and
cheers and clanging of our swords, as we drew them half way from their
scabbards and sent them ringing back again, cried: ‘We will die for our
King, Maria Theresa.’ At that, the woman’s heart, which ever dwells in
her, made itself felt. She, who had scorned fear when the men around
her trembled, and who proposed to die rather than yield to injustice,
burst into tears, and wept before us. Oh, then we were wild--we wept,
too--but they were tears of love and admiration and devotion to her who
was so much a queen and yet so much a woman. And from that day to this
has she been the darling of the Hungarian people!”
“And she is worthy of it!” cried St. Arnaud, roused from his habitual
calm, and speaking before Gavin had time to take breath after Kalenga’s
recital. Madame Ziska supplemented her husband’s glowing words by
many stories of the Empress Queen’s excellence as a wife and mother,
and Gavin and St. Arnaud were eager listeners. Gavin was ready to
believe anything of the courage and nobility of a woman defending her
rights--he had seen an example of it in his own mother. St. Arnaud,
familiar with a corrupt court, where evil and designing women held
empire, was glad to know that a royal and imperial lady could make
virtue fashionable and decorum popular.
“And now,” said Madame Ziska after a while, “let us go upstairs and see
the apartment that I wish our landlord to let to you.”
Taking candles, she led them upstairs, where, above her, was a
comfortable suite of rooms to be had. Gavin, in the impetuosity of
his gratitude and affection for Madame Ziska, would have leased a
dog-kennel recommended by her. St. Arnaud, cooler and more experienced,
saw that the rooms were really desirable, and that Madame Ziska was a
good counsellor in the every-day affairs of life. Gavin declared that
he meant to stay that very night, as they had no other lodgings, and it
was not likely the landlord would come and turn them out. St. Arnaud
laughingly agreed; Madame Ziska abetted them by lending them sheets and
pillows, and at midnight they tumbled into bed and slept the sleep of
the just, untroubled by any qualms as trespassers.
Next morning, by ten o’clock, they had engaged the lodgings. But
earlier even than that Gavin had gone after his commission, and had
received with it a small sum of money, by way of pay, in advance. It
was modest enough, but it was more money than Gavin had ever seen at
any one time in his life. With it he could pay back his part of Madame
Ziska’s loan and fit himself out with clothes and uniforms. St. Arnaud
could draw, in Vienna, on his funds in Paris--so they could establish
themselves in comfort in their new quarters, which they proceeded to
do. The proudest moment of Gavin’s life was when he stood up to be
measured for his uniform in the hussar regiment to which he had been
assigned. It was approached, however, by the joy he felt in signing
his name to a long letter to his mother--“Your affectionate son, Gavin
Hamilton, sublieutenant in the Jascinsky Regiment of Hussars of her
Imperial Majesty, the Empress Queen Maria Theresa.”
It is not often that any human being enjoys perfect happiness, even
for a single day; but for a time it fell to Gavin Hamilton’s fortunate
lot. It is true, he felt it necessary to his credit, as well as his
happiness, that his mother should be redeemed from her life of toil,
and he ardently longed to have her with him. This, however, he knew
to be practicable, and with his sanguine temperament, he regarded it
as already accomplished. And so it was a time of happiness that he
entered upon at Vienna, the memory of which was a joy to him as long as
he lived. Within the week he had completed the formalities necessary
to receive his commission, and he was to attend the Empress Queen’s
levee, to “kiss hands” upon entering the royal service. St. Arnaud was
also to go, to pay his formal respects at court. The levee was held
in the evening, and Madame Ziska, who danced at the opera that night,
actually drove home, in the intervals of the performance, to see her
two friends. St. Arnaud, who had recovered his good looks, along with
regularity in having something to eat, and fresh air and exercise, was
exquisitely handsome in his new and dazzling uniform. Gavin, who had no
regular beauty, but a fine figure and a frank, speaking face, looked
his best in his white hussar jacket and glittering accoutrements. No
mother admiring her young daughters dressed for their first ball could
have shown more pride and pleasure than Madame Ziska. The children, who
were allowed to stay up as a special privilege, were in raptures of
delight, while even Kalenga, who was always patient, but seldom gay,
smiled in sympathy with the pleasure of those around him. At last St.
Arnaud and Gavin set off in a hired coach.
A great crowd of notabilities filled the anterooms of the palace, but
way was made everywhere for Gavin and St. Arnaud. Their story had been
told broadcast in Vienna, and the proudest and most exclusive society
in Europe was prepared to welcome them. St. Arnaud was already well
known, and Gavin’s relationship to the haughty and unpopular Sir Gavin
Hamilton was public property. St. Arnaud had remarked to Gavin, on
entering the palace:
“Surely Sir Gavin Hamilton will absent himself from this levee. He will
not wish to be brought face to face with you.”
“You little know my father,” replied Gavin. “It is not in him to avoid
anybody or anything. This much I must say of him--he does not know how
to skulk.”
True as Gavin had said. As they reached the door of the imperial
apartments, Sir Gavin Hamilton, plainly but elegantly dressed, and
wearing a diamond-hilted sword and a single splendid decoration on his
breast, barred the way. He was conversing with the Chancellor, the
celebrated Prince Kaunitz, known as “the coach driver of Europe,” from
his superior management of affairs. Great as Kaunitz was, he had an
obtrusive vanity, amazing in a man of so much power and ability. In
contrast to Sir Gavin Hamilton’s studied simplicity of attire, Kaunitz
was a mass of jewels and embroidery, while the entire breast of his
blue velvet coat was covered with medals, orders, and decorations.
Sir Gavin, a single eyeglass in his eye, surveyed the Chancellor with
cool arrogance, and even the mighty Kaunitz was impressed by the calm
assurance of the English baronet.
Sir Gavin directly blocked the doorway, and after waiting a few
momenta, Gavin, exchanging glances with St. Arnaud, tapped Sir Gavin on
the arm lightly, and said:
“Pardon, but will you kindly permit us to enter?”
Sir Gavin turned around, without making way in the least, and quietly
surveyed his son for a whole minute.
“I asked,” said Gavin, slightly raising his voice, “if you would kindly
permit us to enter.”
The little scene had attracted the attention of those near by, and
it was perfectly well known who Gavin was. Kaunitz, who heartily
disliked Sir Gavin, watched with a sly smile the outcome of this novel
encounter, and anxiously hoped for the baronet’s discomfiture.
Gavin met Sir Gavin’s cold, impassive glance with one full of a steady
defiance. They were very unlike, this father and son--Sir Gavin, small,
slight, and pale, and Gavin, tall and well developed for his twenty
years; but when they stood face to face, defying each other, as it
were, a strange likeness came out between them--no one could doubt then
their relationship.
After a moment more Gavin coolly unbuckled his sword, and handing it to
St. Arnaud, said:
“The Empress Queen gave me that sword with her own hand; therefore, it
shall touch no unworthy thing.” And as quick as a flash he seized Sir
Gavin around the waist, and setting him aside, as if he were a chair,
or any other piece of light furniture, walked in, followed by St.
Arnaud, who handed him his sword.
There was a burst of suppressed laughter, in which Kaunitz’s delighted
cackle could be heard. Sir Gavin, pale with rage, was yet indomitable,
and looked about him with an unabashed front. Kaunitz, whose
opportunity it was, sauntered up, smiling blandly.
“My dear Sir Gavin, I feel the utmost sympathy for you. Most
disrespectful of _your son_.”
“Yes, he is my son,” slowly replied Sir Gavin, “but--”
Gavin, a few steps farther on, turned back, his face as pale as his
father’s.
“Be guarded in what you say,” he said in a distinct voice.
“But not my heir,” continued Sir Gavin.
[Illustration: “HE DROPPED SIR GAVIN ON TO THE FLOWER-BED FIFTEEN FEET
BELOW”]
Gavin made one swift and silent step toward him. Close at hand was
an open window, and out of it Gavin instantly handed Sir Gavin,
holding him carefully suspended, and dropping him considerately upon a
flower-bed fifteen feet below.
“I have not hurt him,” he said, turning to the astonished spectators.
“I have let him down very softly. You see, I cannot let any one, least
of all my father, Sir Gavin Hamilton, say that of me, because it
reflects upon my mother. And I dare not wear the sword given me by the
Empress Queen, nor even face her Majesty, if I suffer one disrespectful
word to be spoken of my mother, Lady Hamilton.”
There was a ripple of applause and laughter. All had occurred so
quickly and quietly that only those immediately around them in the vast
anteroom knew anything of what had happened. But it spread rapidly. St.
Arnaud drew Gavin away, whose face was now deeply flushed, and who was
beginning to show agitation.
“I do not know whether this will be my ruin or not with the Empress
Queen,” he said in an excited whisper to St. Arnaud; “I only know that
some force stronger than I, and better, too, than I, impels me to
defend my mother’s good name whenever this man attacks it; and if ruin
comes because of it, let it come. Had Sir Gavin been standing on the
very steps of the throne, I should have done as I did.”
“You are quite right; you have nothing to fear. Prince Kaunitz saw it
all, and you may be sure that the right account will get to the Emperor
and Empress Queen. So let us take our places in line as if nothing had
occurred,” counselled St. Arnaud.
This they proceeded to do, and in their turn they entered the splendid
apartment, where weekly the imperial levee was held. On a daïs under
a canopy of crimson velvet sat Maria Theresa and the Emperor Francis.
The Empress Queen, in a white gown, with a crimson velvet mantle
lightly thrown across her shoulders, wearing superb jewels, and a
small tiara on her dark hair, was a picture of matronly beauty. No
one would have suspected that this majestic and serene woman often
spent nights of agonized weeping over her lost armies at Rosbach and
Leuthen. Misfortune might rend her heart, but it could not shake her
lofty spirit, and she set an heroic example of hope and courage. She
was talking affably to those about her, especially a very old man, in
the dress of an Hungarian magnate, for whom she had caused a chair to
be placed, in consideration of his infirmities. As each person was
presented she had an appropriate word, and when St. Arnaud’s time came,
she acknowledged his respectful greeting by saying pleasantly:
“I desire to hear more of your adventures in getting out of Glatz.”
To Gavin she said that which gave him a thrill of the deepest happiness.
“I hope, Lieutenant Hamilton, that you have informed your mother, Lady
Hamilton, of your fortunate escape.”