THE EFFICIENT HOSTLER
When John Scott returned to the stables his pulses were still throbbing
with joy and he trod the grass of the Elysian Fields. Young love is pure
and noble, a spontaneous emotion that has nothing in it of calculation,
and the wild and strange setting of his romance merely served to deepen
his feelings.
He was the young crusader again, a knight coming to rescue his lady from
the hands of the infidels. He had made the impossible possible. He had
seen her and spoken with her, and despite his peasant clothes and his
position of a menial that he had willingly taken, she had known him at
once. He had seen the deep color flushing into her face and the light
like the first arrow of dawn spring into her eyes, and he knew that he
had not come in vain.
He put so much vigor into his work, and he whistled and sang, low but so
joyously that the stolid Walther took notice.
"Why are you so happy, you Castel?" he asked.
"I've seen the sun, Herr Walther."
"There is nothing uncommon about that. The sun has risen every morning
for a million years and more."
"But not this sun, Herr Walther. It never rose before and it's the
brightest and most glorious of them all."
Walther looked up at the sun. It was in truth bright, casting a golden
glow over all the mountains, but he saw nothing new about it.
"It's a fine sun, as you say," he said, "but it's the same as ever. Ah,
you're French after all--in blood, I mean, I don't question your
loyalty--and you see things that are not. Too much imagination, Castel.
Quit it. It's not wholesome."
"But I'm enjoying it, Herr Walther. Imagination is a glorious thing. You
see the same sun that I do in so far as our eyes are able to look upon
it, but you do not see it in the same way. It appears far more splendid
and glorious to me than it does to you. Our eyes are mirrors and mine
reflect today with much more power and much more depth of color than
yours do."
Walther stared at him, comprehending but little of what he had said, and
shook his head slowly.
"Your French blood is surely on top now, Castel," he said. "I should
call you a little mad if you didn't work so hard and with such a good
heart."
"Ah, well, if we enjoy our madness, pray let us remain so."
Walther shook his head again, and walked away some distance where he
stopped, and looked long at his new helper who toiled with uncommon
diligence but who whistled and sang in a low but happy manner as he
toiled. A new thought was slowly making its way into his stolid brain.
A man might have a madness, and be none the worse for it. Well, every
one to his own madness.
John had heard from Ilse that Julie walked on the terrace twice every
day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, and he strove so to
arrange his work that he might see her again that afternoon. Knowing
that he was already a favorite with Walther he made many suggestions.
This horse or that needed exercise, and one that had been a favorite
with the prince before he had taken to the automobile, and that even now
was often ridden by him, would be all the better for sun and air.
Walther agreed with him and John deftly postponed the time until about
four o'clock, the warmest and brightest part of the afternoon, when he
thought it most likely that Julie would come again.
He led the horse back and forth along a road that led from the stables
to a forest hanging on the slope, being in sight of the terrace about
half the way. But the terrace was bare and it was not until he had made
three or four turns that Julie with her following shadow, Suzanne,
appeared. Again John's heart beat heavily, and the hand that held the
bridle trembled. He could not help it. His mind, highly sensitive and
imaginative, was nevertheless powerful and tenacious to the last degree.
And he was there in the heart of old romance. The vast castle, gray and
sinister, loomed above him, but beyond was the golden light on the
mountains.
He did not try to attract her attention, but, walking calmly on with
the horse, poured all his soul into the wish that she would look his
way. He had not the remotest belief in the supernatural as he told
himself again, but he continued to wish it with all his power and
strength, and presently her gaze turned toward the young peasant and the
horse who were walking slowly up and down the road. He was too far away
to read her face, but his fond fancy told him that she rejoiced again to
see him there.
She looked at him a little while, but she made no sign or signal. He
expected none. She would know too well that it might create suspicion
and from some one of the many windows of the castle jealous eyes might
be watching.
She advanced to the edge of the terrace with her faithful shadow still
close behind her, and then the prince came. He was in a white and silver
uniform of Austria, a magnificent figure of a man, despite his middle
years, and his great brown beard gave him a majestic aspect. But John
knew that his eyes were set close together and that the soul behind them
was unscrupulous and cruel.
He saw Auersperg take off his gorgeous hat and bow low before the young
Julie. Then they walked together on the terrace, the dark shadow of
Suzanne following, but further behind now.
John's heart was filled with a fierce and consuming rage. The presence
of Auersperg, magnificent, triumphant, powerful, a medieval baron here
in the most medieval of all settings, a very monarch indeed, brought him
back to earth. What could he do alone in the face of so much might?
What could Julie herself do, helpless, before so much pressure? And,
after all, from his point of view and from the point of view from his
class, Auersperg was making her a great offer, one that nobles in the
two empires would hold to be most honorable. For the first time he felt
a tremor of doubt, and then he stilled it as base and unworthy. The very
word "morganatic" was repulsive to him. It implied that the man stooped,
and that the woman surrendered something no real wife could yield.
Julie, whose blood was the blood of the great republican marshal, would
never submit to such a wrong.
John presently saw someone standing on the steps of the terrace, and as
he turned with the horse, he beheld a wild and jealous face. It was
young Kratzek, and he was watching Auersperg and Julie. He was only a
lad, this Austrian noble, but John's heart felt a touch of sympathy. A
common love made them akin and he knew that Kratzek's love like his own
was the love of youth, high and pure. He felt neither hate nor jealousy
of the Austrian.
His eyes went back to Julie and Auersperg. Their faces were turned
toward him now and he could see that it was the prince who talked and
that Julie listened, saying but little. The thud of hoofs on the road
into the valley came to him and Pappenheim, on his great black horse,
galloped into view. But he pulled to a walk when he saw the two on the
terrace, and John smiled to himself in grim irony. Pappenheim also loved
the ground upon which the young Julie walked. Von Arnheim and von
Boehlen should be there, too, and then the jealous circle would be
complete.
Kratzek presently walked away, and Pappenheim rode slowly past the
castle and out of sight. Julie turned from the prince and looked fixedly
for a little while in John's direction. He felt that she meant it as a
sign, and he was eager to reply in some way, but prudence held him. Then
she went into the castle and Auersperg was left alone on the terrace.
John saw that Prince Karl of Auersperg was very thoughtful. He walked
slowly back and forth, his figure magnified in the sun's glow, and now
and then he thoughtfully stroked his great brown beard. He seemed to
John more than ever out of place. His time was centuries ago among the
robber barons. In such a group he would not have been the worst, but in
his soul John wished that the hour for all such as he had come. If the
great war struck that dead trunk from the living body of the human race
it would not be fought wholly in vain.
He went into the castle after a while, his walk slow and thoughtful, and
John returned with the horse to the stables. All the rest of the day, he
worked with such diligence and effect that Walther bade him rest.
"You may go about the castle as much as you please," he said, "and you
may enter the part set aside for the servants, but you must stop there.
Nor can you go beyond the immediate castle grounds. If you try it you
risk a shot from the sentries."
"I've no wish to be shot and so I'll not risk it," said John, with the
utmost sincerity, and after bathing his face and hands, he strolled
through the grounds of Zillenstein, his course soon and inevitably
leading him toward the addition to the right wing from the windows of
which lights were shining. Yet the grounds outside were heavy with
shrubbery, and, keeping hidden in it, he advanced farther and farther,
eager to see.
He was not yet twenty yards from the walls and he saw human figures
passing before the windows. Then a dark form presently slipped from a
small door and stood a moment or two on the graveled walk, as if
undecided. John felt the pulses beating hard in his temples. He knew
that stalwart figure. It was none other than the grim and faithful
Suzanne and, daring all, he went to the very edge of the shrubbery,
calling in a loud whisper:
"Suzanne! Suzanne!"
She stood attentive, glanced about, and, seeing that no one observed
her, came to the edge of the deep shadow.
"Suzanne! Suzanne!" called John again. "It is I, John Scott! Have you
any message for me from Mademoiselle Julie?"
She looked again to see that none was near, and then stepped boldly into
the shrubbery, where John seized her arm half in entreaty and half to
hurry her.
"O, Suzanne! Suzanne!" he repeated, with fierce insistence. "Have you
any word for me?"
They were completely in the heavy shadow now, between the short clipped
pines, where no one, even but a few feet away, could see, and before
replying she looked at him, her grim face relaxing into a smile. She had
always watched him before with a sort of angry jealousy, but John
believed that he now read welcome and gladness in her eyes.
"Suzanne! Suzanne!" he repeated, his insistence ever growing stronger.
"Is there no word for me?"
"Aye," she said, "my mistress bids me tell you that she is grateful,
that she understands all you have risked for her sake, that she can
never repay you sufficiently for your great service, and that she feels
safer because you are near."
"Ah," breathed John, "it is worth every risk to hear that."
"But she fears for you. She knows that you are in great danger here. If
they discover who you are, you perish at once as a spy. So she bids me
tell you to go away. It is easy to escape from here to the Italian
frontier. She would not have you lose your life for her."
"Is it because my life is of more value to her than that of any other
man? Oh, tell me, I pray you?"
Another of her rare smiles passed over the grim face of the woman.
"It is a question that Mademoiselle Julie alone can answer," she said.
"But when she went to her room she wept a little and her tears were not
those of sorrow."
"Oh, then, Suzanne, she is indeed glad that I am here. Tell her that I
came for her, and that I will not go away until she goes too."
"She is in no great danger here; she is a prisoner, but they treat her
as a guest, one of high degree."
"Auersperg would force her to marry him."
Suzanne smiled once more, but gravely.
"The prince would marry her," she said, "and he is not the only one who
wishes to do so. But fear not. Auersperg cannot force her to marry him.
She is of the same tempered steel as her brother, the great Monsieur
Philip. Were she a man as he is, she would dare as much as he does, and
being a woman she will dare in a woman's way none the less."
"And the others, Kratzek and Pappenheim, and von Arnheim if he should
come, they are young and brave and true! Might she not, as the only way
of escape from the high-handed baron, marry one of them?"
For the fourth time Suzanne smiled. Never before had she permitted
herself that luxury so many times in a month, but there was an odd glint
in this latest smile of hers, which gave to her face a rare look of
softness.
"Nor will she marry any of them," she said, "although they are brave and
honest and true and love her. Mademoiselle Julie has her own reasons
which she does not tell to me, but I know. She will not marry Prince
Karl of Auersperg. She will not marry Prince Wilhelm von Arnheim, she
will not marry Count Leopold Kratzek, she will not marry Count
Maximilien Pappenheim. Do I not know her well, I who have been with her
all her life?"
And once more that smile with the odd glint in it passed over her stern
face. But John in the thickening dusk could not see it, although her low
earnest voice carried conviction.
"Tell her for me, will you, Suzanne," he said, "that I think I can take
her from the castle of Zillenstein. Tell her, too, that I am in little
danger in my peasant's clothes. I have been face to face with the prince
himself and he has shown no sign of recognition, nor has Count Kratzek
who was my prisoner once. Tell her that I will not go. Tell her that my
heart is light because she fears for my safety and, O Suzanne, tell her
that I will watch over her the best I can, until all of us escape from
this hateful castle."
"It is much to tell. How can I remember it alt?"
"Then tell her all you remember."
"That I promise. And now it's time for me to go back. We cannot risk too
much."
She turned away, but John had another question to ask her. His heart
smote him that he had not thought of Picard.
"Your father, Suzanne?" he said. "I have not heard of him. Is he here?"
"They left him a prisoner at Munich. Doubtless he will escape and he,
too, will reach Zillenstein."
"Tell Mademoiselle Julie that her brother did not come to the appointed
meeting at Chastel, because he was wounded. Not badly. Don't be alarmed,
Suzanne. He'll be as well as ever soon."
"Then he, too, will come to Zillenstein. You are not the only one who
seeks, Monsieur Scott."
"But I am the first to arrive. Nothing can take that from me."
"It is true. Now I must hasten back to the castle. If I stay longer they
will suspect me."
She slipped from the shrubbery and was gone, and, John, afire with new
emotions, strolled in a wide circuit back to the stables.
A week went by. Twice every day he saw Julie on the terrace, but no word
passed between them, the chance never came. But the hosts of the air
were at work. The invisible currents were passing between the girl on
the terrace who was treated like a princess and the young peasant who
walked the horses in the road.
"Be not afraid. I have a strength more than my own to save you," came on
a wave of air.
"I fear not for myself, only for you lest they discover you," came the
answering wave.
"I love you. You are the most beautiful woman in the world and the
bravest. It's cause for pride to risk death for you."
"I know that you are here for me. I knew that you would come, when I saw
you in Metz. I know that under your peasant's garb you are a prince,
more of a real prince than any Auersperg that ever lived."
John was outside of himself. He felt sometimes as if he had left his
body behind. The spirit of the crusader was still upon him, and in sight
of his beloved, the prize that he had reached but not yet won, he cast
aside all thought of danger or failure and awaited the event, whatever
it might be, with the supreme confidence of youth. It is but truth to
say that he was happy in those days, filled with a stolen delight, all
the sweeter because it was stolen under the very eyes of the medieval
baron, lord almost of life and death, who was master there.
He steadily advanced in the good graces of Walther. No other such
industrious and skillful groom had appeared at Zillenstein in many a
day, and he rapidly acquired dexterity also with the automobiles. None
could send them spinning with more certainty along the curving mountain
roads. He practiced with diligence because he had a vague premonition
that all this knowledge would be of use to him some day.
Pappenheim went away, but returned after four days. John fancied that he
had been in Vienna, but he knew the magnet that had brought him back. He
saw the young Austrian's eyes flame more than once when Julie appeared
in her favorite place on the terrace. And yet John neither hated nor
feared him.
Kratzek was well enough to go back to the battle front, but he lingered.
John did not know what excuses he gave, but he was there, and his eyes,
too, burned when Julie passed.
Often in the evening he watched for the grim Suzanne and the word that
she would bring, but she did not come. Day by day he saw her, the long
black shadow behind her mistress, but she never looked toward him,
however intensely he wished it.
The prince went forth occasionally, but he always used an automobile and
he was never gone longer than a day. John wondered why he remained so
long at Zillenstein, knowing that he was a general in the German army
and a man of weight at the battle front. He concluded at last that he
must be waiting there for a conference of some kind between important
men of Germany and Austria. He had heard through the gossip in the
castle that Italy was threatening war on Austria, and the Teutonic
powers must now face also toward the southwest. Much might be decided at
Zillenstein.
Ilse and Olga were still his best sources of information. Very little
that passed in the castle missed their shrewd inquiring minds, and they
had found in the handsome young peasant from Lorraine one with whom they
liked to talk. He jested and laughed with them but there was a certain
reserve on his part that they could not break down but which drew them
on. He would not flirt with them. None was readier than he for light
words and airy compliments, but nothing that he said permitted either of
the trim young Austrian girls to think that he might become a lover.
"I think, Herr Johann," said Ilse, "that you have left behind in
Lorraine a maid whom you love."
"It may be so," said John vaguely. "I saw one in Metz whom anybody could
love."
"What was she like?" asked Ilse, eagerly.
"A skin the tint of the young rose, eyes like the dawn on a summer
morning, hair a shower of the finest spun silk, and a walk like that of
a young goddess."
"It's beautiful, but it doesn't describe; what was the color of her hair
and eyes?"
"I don't know. They dazzled me so much that I merely remember their
loveliness and glory."
"It can't be!" exclaimed Ilse, who did not walk in Elysian paths. "You
jest with us. You recall her hair and eyes."
John shook his head impressively.
"The French prisoner, the one they call a spy, Mademoiselle Lannes, is
the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," said blond Olga, "but no one
could look at her without remembering the color of her hair and eyes,
such a marvelous gold and such a deep, dark blue."
"His Highness, Prince Karl, remembers them well," said Ilse.
"But not better than the young Count Kratzek," said Olga.
"Nor better than Count Pappenheim."
"And yet they're going to send her away."
"It's because the generals and princes are coming for the great council
and they wouldn't have more to fall in love with her."
"And it might give even Prince Karl trouble to answer questions why she
is here."
John's pulses began to beat heavily despite all his efforts at calmness
and he turned his face away that they might not see the eager light in
his eyes. When he had mastered himself sufficiently to use a quiet voice
he asked:
"When is this great council of which you speak?"
"In three or four days," replied Ilse. "We hear that many Serene
Highnesses are coming from both Berlin and Vienna."
"And the French girl is to be carried away before they come?"
"She goes the day after tomorrow with the dark woman, Suzanne, to the
hunting lodge of His Highness, higher in the mountains."
Then with a frightened gesture she clapped her hand upon her mouth.
"You will say nothing of it, Herr Johann?" she pleaded. "It is a secret
from all but a few, and His Highness doubtless would punish us terribly
if he knew that we told."
"You can trust me, Ilse," said John earnestly. "I would not bring
trouble upon you or Olga. Besides, what is it to me?"
He sought by indirect questions to learn more from them, but they would
not continue, seeming to be afraid that they had already said too much.
Then he turned casually from the subject, lest he rouse suspicion, and
spoke of his horses. But all the while he was searching his mind, as one
looks for a treasure, to discover how he could follow Julie and Suzanne
to their new abode.
He gathered from Walther that the hunting lodge was higher in the
mountains in the depths of a great forest, about six leagues from
Zillenstein where there was much big game. In times of peace the prince
frequently went there, and a good automobile road led to the lodge,
although in winter the snow was often so deep that the place was
inaccessible.
Late that afternoon the hoofs of horses beat steadily on the road
leading from the valley up to Zillenstein. John from a coign of vantage
saw approaching a young man in a gray German uniform, followed by four
hussars, also in German gray. Anyone who came to Zillenstein was of
interest, and as John looked the leading figure became familiar. Doubt
soon changed to certainty. He knew the swing of the broad shoulders and
the high pose of the head. It was the young prince, von Arnheim.
"And so they all gather," said John to himself.
He was swept by the little shiver that one often feels when influenced
suddenly by a powerful emotion. Fate or chance had a wonderful way of
bringing about strange things. He had seen it too often not to know. He
was sure in his heart now that von Boehlen too would come some time and
somehow.
He looked at the terrace. Julie and Suzanne had appeared there in the
last few minutes, and they were gazing at the gallant figure of young
von Arnheim who was now so near. The prince himself, when he saw Julie,
sprang from his horse, ran lightly up the steps, and bending low over
her hand, kissed it. Nor did John feel jealousy or hate of him.
He was glad that von Arnheim had come. He was sure that Julie did not
love him and never would, but he was a brave and honest man who would do
no wrong. Julie was safer from insult with him near. To the rank of
Prince Karl of Auersperg he could oppose a rank the equal of his own.
He was too far away to hear their words or even to note their faces, but
he saw the young prince talk with her for a little space and then go
into the castle, doubtless to notify Auersperg of his arrival. Julie as
her eyes roved about the great panorama of mountain and valley saw John,
and the wireless messages of their eyes passed and repassed again.
"I know that you are watching and risking your life for me," hers said.
"Gladly," his replied.
"I like Prince Wilhelm von Arnheim, but it's liking, not love."
"I wish to believe it and do."
Then the little waves of air were stilled, as she went back into the
castle, doubtless because she feared to arouse suspicion, and John
returned to his work with Walther, convinced that he must form some plan
now. Von Arnheim must merely be the vanguard of the council, and Julie
might be sent away earlier than Ilse had announced. He must contrive a
way to follow.
That night he lurked once more in the shrubbery. He had been there
nearly every night, hopeful that Suzanne would pass again, but not until
tonight did she come. The tall figure, swathed almost to the eyes in a
heavy cloak, came down the terrace to the walk, and John whistled low a
note of a French folksong. He had merely hoped that she would stop a
moment or two to listen, and the little device succeeded. She paused and
looked at the black mass of the shrubbery.
"Suzanne! Suzanne!" called John, his voice showing all the intenseness
of his anxiety.
"Monsieur Scott," she said in a loud whisper.
"Yes, Suzanne, here behind the bushes! I must have word with you!"
Silently she stepped into the impenetrable shadows and John eagerly
seized her hand.
"Your mistress, Mademoiselle Julie," he whispered eagerly, "she does not
break down with the suspense and anxiety? She still hopes?"
"You need not fear for her courage, Monsieur Scott. Did I not tell you
that she had a heart of steel, even the same as that of her great
brother. I should not tell it to you, but she has never despaired since
you came."
John's fingers closed convulsively upon the large muscular hand of
Suzanne and in the darkness the woman's grim face relaxed into a smile.
"You are holding my hand not that of Mademoiselle Julie," she said.
"Your words bring me such joy, Suzanne, that I forgot, but I must speak
to your mistress."
"You cannot. It is impossible. She is watched more closely than ever."
"But there is news that she must know! Then you must tell it to her!"
"What news? You surely don't mean that they will try her on this
ridiculous charge of being a spy!"
"No, not that, Suzanne, but they're preparing to send her and you away."
"And glad we both will be to leave this hateful castle of Zillenstein."
"But it's not that you will fare better. There will be no chance of
freedom now. You are to be sent into the higher mountains in the
wilderness to a hunting lodge belonging to Auersperg. You will be hidden
from all but a few of his most trusted followers."
"Then we're not afraid. We shall even be glad to go there, anywhere from
this terrible place. We do not fear the woods, my mistress and I. I can
think they're more friendly than those old stone walls above us."
"But tell her this, Suzanne, I pray you, that I shall follow her there."
"How?"
"I don't yet know, but I shall find a way. Tell her, Suzanne, that I'll
never leave her so long as I'm alive."
The eyes of the grim woman softened singularly, as she gazed in the dusk
at the young man. A devotion such as his, a devotion so evident, would
have moved a heart of stone. Her young mistress was dearer than anyone
else in the world to her, dearer than her own father, and her stern
spirit relaxed when she saw that another could love her in a different
way, but as well.
"I'll tell her," she said, "but I tell you that 'tis needless. She knows
already that wherever she goes you will follow. Does that bring any
comfort to your soul, Mr. Scott?"
"Aye, Suzanne, it fills it with thankfulness. Don't forget to tell her
that she will go soon. Von Arnheim, Pappenheim and Kratzek are her
friends, but they can't prevent it if they would. It may be too that
they will not know when or where she goes."
"She shall hear everything you say and, remember, that she has a brave
heart. She has less fear for herself than for you."
She slipped away in the darkness and John went back to his own little
place over the stables where he passed a night that was all but
sleepless thinking over his problem and finding no good solution. He
meant to follow Julie and Suzanne in any event to the hunting lodge, but
it was not sufficient merely to follow. He must appear in some capacity
that would permit him to be of service. And yet Providence was working
for him at that moment.
Prince Karl of Auersperg in his magnificent modernized apartments in the
huge castle was also troubled by an inability to sleep. Hitherto in his
fifty or more years of life he had always got what he wanted. His blood
was more ancient than that of either Hohenzollern or Hapsburg. The
Auerspergs had been princes of the Holy Roman Empire for a thousand
years and now he was a prince of both Teutonic empires and a general of
the first rank in the army of Germany. His wealth was so vast that he
scarcely knew the extent of his own lands and here in Zillenstein he
could maintain the power and state that appertained to a baron of the
Middle Ages.
A mind that has only to wish for a thing to get it becomes closed in
fifty years. It mistakes desire for right. It regards opposition as
sacrilege. Other minds that differ from it are wicked because they
differ. The thick armor of Prince Karl's self-complacency had been
pierced as it were by a tiny needle that stung, however tiny, as if its
point were laden with poison.
He, the omniscient and omnipotent, had been defied and by whom? A mere
slip of a girl! A child! She was not even of his own race! But perhaps
it was this very defiance that made him wish for her all the more. He
loved her as he had never loved that long-dead wife, a plain princess
who always thought what she was told to think.
But he would take Julie in all honor as his wife. He could not make her
a princess but he could make her a countess, and he would clothe her in
a golden shower. There had been hundreds of morganatic marriages. They
implied no disgrace. Noblewomen themselves had been glad to make them.
And yet she had refused. Nothing could move her. She had not even
flinched a particle when he had threatened her otherwise with death as a
spy, although the threat was merely words on his lips and had no abiding
place in his heart. She was most beautiful then, when the defiant fire
flashed in her dark blue eyes and the sunshine coming through a tall
stained glass window made deep red tints in her wonderful golden hair.
It was maddening to think of her, just a child turning into a woman, and
wholly in his power defying him as if he were some humble lieutenant and
not the mighty Prince Karl of Auersperg.
He rose and walked angrily back and forth. Now and then he went to a
window and looked out at the dusky panorama of valley, mountain and
shaggy forest. As far as he could see and farther it was all his and
yet he was powerless in the matter that now concerned him more than all
others. She was his prisoner, and yet she was as free as air. Her soul
and her heart were her own, and he could not reach either. He knew it.
That knowledge like the little poisoned needle had punctured the
triple-plate of his complacency and pride and left him no relief from
pain, a pain that would have become intolerable had he known that of all
the bars that stood between her and him the one that nothing could move
was a young peasant in his employ, who watered and fed horses, and who
often led them up and down the road within his plain view.
And yet knowing what he did, knowing that she would not marry him, he
had no thought to give her up. Hope will often spring anew in the face
of absolute knowledge itself, and deep in his heart a belief would
appear now and then that he might yet break her to his wish. He knew
that von Arnheim, Pappenheim and Kratzek knelt at the same shrine and he
laughed harshly to himself because he was sure that they knelt in vain.
They were young, handsome, attractive, men of the world, men whom any
girl might love but she did not love any of them. He knew the signals,
and Julie certainly hung out none for von Arnheim, nor for Kratzek nor
for Pappenheim.
He ran his fingers through his great brown forked beard, just such a
beard as many a robber baron might have worn, and thought deeply of what
he should do with her, before the great council of princes and generals
assembled in his castle. She must not be there then. Awkward questions
might be asked, but if she were well hidden no trouble could befall. Von
Arnheim or Kratzek or Pappenheim might speak, but any words of his would
outweigh all of theirs and that term of a spy was wonderfully
convenient.
But he wished only himself to know where Julie had gone. He wanted no
tattle and gossip about the castle and where there were so many servants
and followers it could not be prevented unless they were kept in
ignorance. It would be best to use a stranger, one who was known but
little at Zillenstein, and he recalled such a man. Second thought
confirmed first thought and his decision was made.