BY THE MIRROR LAKE
The encounter between Countess Minna and von Ompertz had the effect of
making both watcher and watched more circumspect.
The Captain ceased to perambulate the royal precincts so openly, while
Minna’s daylight walks were of the most patently innocent kind. So far
she played her game shrewdly enough; but it was certainly a dangerous,
if not a false move, when she determined on an expedition after dusk to
the old sun-dial. The spirit of rebellion had entered strongly into the
Princess, and was fanned by her companion from motives of pure roguery
as well as for revenge for the fright which the Chancellor had given
her. It was to the Princess Ruperta intolerable that her whole life
and happiness should be dominated by this cunning old minister, and to
be subjected to a system of close espionage was more than her spirit
would endure. If the Duke, her father, was weak enough to submit, she
would not be so tame: she would let Rollmar see that she was no pawn
to be pushed about according to the exigencies of his political game.
She wished as dearly as he that the laggard Prince would make his
appearance; she would give him an uncomfortable time of it, and delight
in upsetting the Chancellor’s plans.
“He is wise to keep away in hiding,” she said resentfully to Minna,
“but, for all that, I should love to hear that he had arrived. The
Baron should have many a _mauvais quart d’heure_, I promise you.”
“It would be rare fun,” Minna assented. “How I should enjoy watching
the old fox’s face while you were mortifying the vanity of this
precious Prince Ludwig. You will surely have a fair field there, dear
Highness, for were he not eaten up by self-conceit he would have been
here long ago.”
“He has never shown the least sign of interest.” The Princess made a
quick gesture of anger. “And I am to marry the pig. I hate him; I hate
him, as you shall see, my dear Baron.”
Meanwhile her precious freedom should not be circumscribed. Her
feelings should not be coerced. If this hateful marriage, after a
stormy wooing, had to take place it was at least hardly to be expected
that she should calmly wait, keeping her fancy free, for this very
cavalier wooer. The Princess was, as has been seen, a woman of great
determination, who could be as cold as ice, nay, colder, for she had
the power of remaining at freezing point under the fiercest sun. Still,
after all--and no one knew this more shrewdly than did the Baron--she
was a woman; her force of passion was none the less strong because it
was deeply set. To such a nature her very bringing up had made for
waywardness, power in a woman implies caprice, and caprice is none the
less absolute because the power is bounded. The road to such a woman’s
heart is not direct. They who take the straight path shall find it but
leads them to a blank wall, or at least to a fast-barred door. The
heart is set, as it were, in the centre of a maze, you may chance upon
it by taking a path which seems to lead away from your objective. There
is a cunning side inlet; a short, unexpected turn, and lo! the goal is
before you.
It was thus with Ludovic von Bertheim. He had caught the Princess’s
interest by surprise at the fortune-teller’s; the glamour of a strange
adventure was over his personality, the glimpses she had caught of his
character, so different from that shown by the young bloods she was
used to see about the Court, had captured her fancy, then her heart,
which, despite her reputation for coldness, was hungering for love. And
love had seemed so far off, so little to be hoped for now that she was
to be hand-fasted to a man whom she had never seen, and who seemed bent
on showing that he must not be expected to play the lover. Small wonder
then if, under the stress of a joyless future and wounded sensibility,
she forgot her pride of station and allowed herself to think tenderly
of a man who had so suddenly and curiously come into her life. Now,
more than ever, did she resent with all the spirit that was in her the
manifest way in which she was being used by Rollmar to further his
schemes of aggrandisement. That he should wish her to form an alliance
of high political importance she could understand; it was, from a
statesman’s point of view, reasonable enough; but that he should take
upon himself to play the spy on her, to interfere with her personal
liberty, was more than she would brook. It was monstrous, and, with a
girl of her high spirit, was simply pressing the key which would give
forth the note of rebellion.
“It is dangerous, though, Minna,” she said.
“Surely, Highness, you are not beginning to fear that old fox.”
“Not I,” she replied scornfully, “I meant for him, for the Lieutenant.”
Minna gave a shrug. “Possibly. We may tell him the risk he runs. I
wager if we appoint a meeting he will not stay away for fear of our
dear Baron; and if he should, why, let him stay away for ever.”
“He will not stay away,” the Princess asserted. “But if we should
lead him into a trap, Minna, it would be terrible. The Chancellor is
relentless.”
“At least we are not fools,” Minna declared. “I have outwitted the old
tiger-cat once; trust me, dear Highness, not only to do it again, but
to deal with that stupid swaggering fellow of his, a great fool who
calls himself noble and proves it--by playing the spy.”
So presently Minna was allowed to write a short message, and after
dark she slipped out to take it across the park to the appointed
post-office. But all her wariness did not hide her from the sharp eyes
that were on the watch. The stupid swaggering fellow she chose to
despise was an old campaigner; one whose life had too often depended on
alertness of eye and ear to be caught napping. Neither was he the fool
she was pleased to call him. He had sense enough to guess shrewdly that
her daylight walks were a blind, and to expect her appearance on a more
purposeful errand in the evening.
If it went against the grain to spy upon a woman, Ompertz gathered
some satisfaction from the thought that the disdainful little maid of
honour evidently despised him, which sentiment she was by no means
given to conceal wherever they chanced to meet. Now, perhaps it was to
be his turn, he thought, as he followed the dark, retreating figure
that hurried along the great avenue of elms. Von Ompertz was an expert
stalker, his trained eye could see in the dark almost as clearly as
a cat’s, he had little difficulty in keeping her within observation
and himself out of it. She gave him a long chase, but he stuck to it
successfully, and was, after much wonderment, rewarded by seeing the
note posted beneath the loose slab of the sun-dial.
In half an hour the missive was in the hands of the Chancellor; its
purport was noted, and it was restored to its place.
Rollmar was highly pleased at the near prospect of putting an end to
what might prove a tiresome impediment to his scheme. He commended
Ompertz, and with him concerted a plan of action for the next night
for which the assignation was given. The soldier was quite willing
to undertake the business single-handed, but at that suggestion the
Chancellor shook his head. It was too risky, the thing was to be
carried out swiftly, surely, noiselessly. Ompertz would be provided
with two assistants; he was to be in command, and the Chancellor’s
future favour depended upon the way in which the business would be
performed.
* * * * *
The lovers’ place of meeting was to be by the temple on the lake in
the park. A romantic spot where the trees grew down to the water’s
edge, and arched over till their branches swept the surface. It was a
favourite place for summer picnics and fishing parties. The lake was
of great depth; being formed in a chalk basin the water was singularly
clear, and reflected in almost startling intensity the high wall of
foliage which surrounded it.
It was on the outer fringe of this belt of woodland that Ludovic
kept watch next evening for the coming of the Princess, and as the
two cloaked figures showed themselves against a vista of moonlit sky
he, with a delicious sense of anticipation, hurried forward to meet
them. After the greeting, Minna dropped behind as the others walked on
towards the lake.
“Ah, Princess,” Ludovic said, “how desperately I have longed, and how
gloriously I have been rewarded.”
“I ought not to have come,” she replied. “It is a great risk,
especially for you. Baron Rollmar is suspicious, impertinently
suspicious.”
Behind her quiet tone there was the vibration of restrained
indignation, of a sharp resentment. He joyed to realise that she talked
quite freely to him now; the impulsive act of their last meeting had
swept away the barrier of reserve which had stood between them.
“The worthy Chancellor,” he said, “has plans for your future.”
“In which I am not consulted.”
“Is that the reason you resent them?”
“Could I have a better? So even you have heard of Rollmar’s plans?”
“Even I, Princess. Vaguely. You are to marry Prince Ludwig of
Drax-Beroldstein.”
“According to the Chancellor’s predetermination.”
“And you are not inclined to fall in with his views?”
Her face was set firmly as she answered, “I am not.”
“For no other reason than that you are not a free agent?”
Was it because he was catechising her with too much freedom that she
turned on him and replied sharply? “For several other reasons.”
“Dare I ask for one?”
She gave him a curious glance, surprised, perhaps, at his persistent
questioning. “I will give you one, an all-sufficient reason. I hate
Prince Ludwig.”
“You might not if you knew him.”
“I could not do otherwise. I hate him, I hate him!”
Her vehemence seemed to surprise him. “It is a rash declaration to
make,” he said. “I venture to think, Princess, that if you saw him you
might after all recant.”
She shook her head impatiently. “Never. Nothing could ever make me like
that man; not even were he to turn out the most charming fellow in the
world. Ah, of course, he is your Prince, your future King, you are too
loyal to hear a word said against him, even from a woman whom he has
treated, to say the least, with disrespect.”
“If he has done that, my Princess----”
“If? He has. But I will not stoop to complain. Happily his conduct
suits my purpose, and for the rest my pride can take care of itself.
Your Prince has a right to your loyalty, he is nothing to me but a
disagreeable shadow, a mere name that offends me. Let us talk of him no
more.”
They had now passed through the belt of wood and arrived at the margin
of the lake. It lay before them like a strip of mirror framed in the
dark sides over which the shadows reached. At a short distance along
the margin stood a small building, an imitation of a classical temple,
its cupola on which the moonlight fell, looking like a white ball
suspended in the air, since the lower part of the structure was in
shadow. From this a short platform or landing-stage extended over the
water and terminated in a boat-house. It was towards this temple, their
appointed trysting-place, that the Princess and her companion strolled,
Minna following them at a discreet interval.
“It makes me sad, my Princess,” he said, “to think that you are not
happy, when I am powerless to prevent it. I who would give my life to
spare you an hour’s unhappiness. If our paths lay together; as it is
they seem to cross only to run wide apart.”
She did not reply at once. “Who can tell?” she said, after they had
taken some steps in silence, “what the future may hold for----” she
hesitated--“for me? Happily no one, not even our Chancellor! and so
there is just a little space for hope to squeeze itself in, although
they would try to deny that to one whose birth puts her above the joys
of ordinary humanity.”
The same note of bitterness which she had struck that night when they
talked on the terrace sounded again. It was evidently becoming the
dominant tone in her life’s music.
“Princess,” Ludovic said, “I cannot bear to hear you talk like that.
And yet how can I dare----?”
She interrupted him with a little laugh, putting out her hand and just
touching his arm for an instant. “Come, my friend,” she said lightly,
“you shall have no more of my doleful grievances. We did not meet to
waste our time in grumbling at a fate which, after all, may not be as
bad as it looks. I love to hear of the world outside our dull court
walls, to come in touch with a life which is free and unrestrained by
the hateful officialdom in which my lot is cast. Tell me of yourself.”
They had reached the temple. The Princess sat down on a bench by the
pillared entrance and signed to him to sit beside her.
“Tell me of yourself.”
“I fear,” he said, “that my history is uneventful enough. It is but
that of a young soldier who is now on furlough and travelling for
pleasure. My life’s real history starts at a point whence it is as well
known to you as to me. And you can continue it as well, or better, than
I.”
She comprehended his meaning and looked down. He spoke earnestly, yet
with a chivalrous reticence which she appreciated. For some moments
there was silence between them. The murmur of the woodland, just
rustled by a slight breeze, was pierced by the cry of a night-jar.
It came like a note of ill omen, although to the lovers the tranquil
delight of the situation was too absorbing to allow them to be
altogether conscious of their surroundings.
“I?” She laughed with wistful eyes fixed on the black wall of trees in
front of them. “I can tell nothing. You know I am mistress not even of
my own actions, although a duke’s daughter.”
His voice, as he replied, was very low, coming to her ear only
just above the murmur of the wood. “You are mistress of one thing,
Princess.” He paused, watching her anxiously for a sign of offence or
encouragement. None came. “Of me--of my heart,” he ventured.
“And my own--that is all,” she said softly.
“That is all the world to us.” He took her hand and pressed it to his
lips. He was on his knees before her. “Princess! My love! Ruperta! My
love!” he murmured.
She seemed to check an impulse and turned her head away. “It is
madness!”
“Then let me never be sane,” he whispered in rapture. “Princess, give
me one word, one word in which you shall write my life’s history--that
I am beloved by you.”
The hand he clasped was cold, the face which glorified his gaze was
set as that of a beautiful statue. Only the breath which, coming
quickly, made manifest that the cold face was but the flag of one of
the belligerents within her. “It is not fair.” The words came from her
dreamily from excess of repression.
“Fair?” he echoed passionately. “How can it be unfair to either of us?
When I would die gladly in the sound of that word from your lips, die
before a fleck of scandal could touch you.”
“I believe that,” she replied. “I am sure that you are the very soul of
honour, but----”
“Ah, let there be no ‘but,’ my love, my sweet Princess.”
“You are asking me to speak a word which both of us know well I have no
right to utter.”
“From your head, perhaps; but from your heart?” he pleaded.
She still gently shook her head. “No, no, my dear friend. You must be
content with the signs I have already given you.”
“Princess, ah, dear love, I beseech you.”
“No, no.”
“Give me at least the sign again.”
“The sign?”
“A kiss.”
The hot breath of the word touched her cheek, which seemed to glow and
catch fire from its ardency. “No, no!” she cried desperately. “You are
unkind; I--I was mad; I knew not what I did. You must forget----”
“Never! never!”
Her coldness, her innate imperiousness had vanished. She was no longer
the Princess, but a woman striving with the temptation of a passion,
which was snapping one by one the bands which had so long confined it.
She had for one moment given it working room, and now she was reeling
fainting in its grasp. With an intense, supreme effort she put out her
arms and thrust him from her. He caught her wrists in his hands and
held hers to his lips. So they stayed looking into each other’s eyes;
he had but to spread out his arms to bring their faces together.
“Go!” she panted, “go! I--this is--ah, will you not respect me and let
me go; yes, and end this madness?”
His lips scarcely moved as he answered tensely: “Yes, Princess, I will
go if you bid me.”
“I bid you go.” An effort alone kept the words steady.
He lowered her hands, but still kept them in his own. “I have offended
you?”
“You will if you do not obey me.” She was steadying herself now after
the blind struggle. The rapture was thrust away; a few moments more,
could she but keep command of herself, and she would be again the
Princess as the world knew her.
Ludovic let her hands fall free. “At least, Princess,” he said with an
effort, “you shall not say I do not respect you.”
“It is best,” she replied simply; and he longed to detect a sign of
regret in her voice.
Like the sound that startles us from a dream came Minna’s voice in a
terrified undertone as she rushed into the porch.
“Highness! we are discovered! We are lost! There are men coming. Look!”
A glance showed them figures but a few yards away advancing quickly
from the deep shadows of the trees. In an instant Ludovic had sprung
to the door. It was unlocked. With a deep exclamation of relief, he
slipped through into the circular room to which it gave access. As he
turned to fasten the door behind him he found that the Princess had
followed. “Go back,” he cried in consternation, “or you are ruined.
Trust me----”
The door was closed now, and they were in the room together. Already
could be heard the sound of a man’s voice and Minna’s replying to it.
Ludovic shot the bolt of the door, then ran across to that on the
opposite side which gave upon the lake. It was fastened.
“Princess!” he exclaimed in agony. “I have disgraced you, but----”
She was at his side, her face white with terror. “It is I who am to
blame,” she said in an agitated whisper. “They will kill you. They are
the Chancellor’s men, I know. They will kill you. Ah, they shall kill
me too.”
The streak of moonlight which fell through the window showed more than
terror in her face. It was love. For an instant he held her in his
arms. “Darling,” he whispered, strangely calm, “have no fear.” Their
lips met in a burning kiss, then again she pressed hers to his, as
though clinging to the last touch of joy the world would give her.
There was a loud knocking at the door. He gently put her from him, and
with unaccountable deliberation went towards it. She caught his arm.
“They will kill you without mercy or hesitation,” she said.
He turned. “Would it not be better,” he whispered, “for Prince Ludwig?”
She started back as though the name had been a blow to strike her. “To
save me from him, let them not take you,” she entreated. “Let us not
part with that hated name between us.”
He seemed to change his intention, as he ran to the window and opened
it. “Farewell, my love,” he said, turning towards her.
Her arms were round his neck. “Good-bye, my darling. Oh, my love, my
love! That I could die with you.”
As their lips parted he turned and dropped lightly from the window
to the landing-stage beneath. Rigid with a despair too poignant for
tears, she stood and watched him, never heeding the knocking and
rattling at the door. She saw him creep out along the pier that bridged
the platform and the boat-house, the shelter of which he gained just as
the door of the temple was sent flying open and two men stumbled into
the room.
In a moment they comprehended how their man had escaped.
“The window,” Ompertz commanded hastily. “Pardon this violence,
Highness,” he added with a bow to the Princess, who stood before him
motionless, impassive as a statue, “but we are after a fellow who
haunts this place and may offer to molest your Highness.”
Her face did not change as with dry lips she said quietly, “He is not
here.”
Meanwhile the other man had got out of the window and been joined
from outside by a third. “To the boat-house, idiots!” cried Ompertz,
hastening to the window. Minna came in and sank down trembling
and hysterical by her mistress. The men ran along the gangway and
disappeared into the boat-house. Ompertz, waiting by the window, half
turned and began another apology to the Princess. With a touch of her
wonted imperiousness she cut him short, forbidding him to address her.
One of the men came back along the pier.
“Well?” Ompertz demanded. “Have you caught him?”
“He is not there, Captain,” the fellow answered, at a loss. “The place
is empty.”
Ompertz swore an oath between his teeth. A shot rang out from the
boat-house. The two men leaned forward, peering anxiously across the
shadow-streaked water. They were too intent to hear a gasping sigh as
Princess Ruperta sank down by Minna’s side in a swoon.