A COURT FETE AT THE RED CHATEAU
At eight o'clock of the following evening, that is to say, the nineteenth of September, Maurice mounted the Thalian pass and left the kingdom in the valley behind him.He was weary, dusty, lame and out of humor; besides, he had a new weight on his conscience.The night before he had taken the life of a man.
True, this had happened before, but always in warfare.He had killed in a moment of rage and chagrin a poor devil who was at most only a puppet.There was small credit in the performance.
However, the rascal would have suffered death in any event, his act being one of high treason.
In the long ride he had made up his mind to lock away forever the silly dream, the tender, futile, silly dream.All men die with secrets locked in their hearts; thus he, too, would die.
His fancy leaped across the chasm of intervening years to the day of his death, and the thought was a happy one! He smiled sadly, as young men smile when they pity themselves.He knew that he would never get over it--in a day.But to-morrow, or to-morrow's to-morrow..
He took the pass's decline; the duchy spread away toward the south.A quarter of a mile below him he saw the barrack and the customs office which belonged to Madame the duchess.The corporal inspected him and his papers, spoke lowly to the customs inspector, who returned to his office.
"It is all right, Monsieur Carewe," said the corporal; "I ought to recognize the horse a mile away.You will arrive just in time.""Just in time for what?"
"Ah, true.Her Highness gives a grand ball at the chateau to-night.The court has arrived from Brunnstadt.Some will reside at the chateau, some at General Duckwitz's, others at the Countess Herzberg's.""Has the duchess arrived at last, then?" was the cynical inquiry.
"She will arrive this evening," answered the corporal, grinning.
"A pleasant journey to you."
Maurice proceeded."And that blockhead of an Englishman has not tumbled yet! The court here? A grand ball? What else can it mean but that Madame is celebrating a victory to come? If the archbishop has those consols, she will wage war; and this is the prelude." He jogged along.He had accomplished a third of the remaining distance, when he was challenged.The sentry came forward and scrutinized the rider.
"O, it is Monsieur Carewe !" he cried in delighted tones.He touched his cap and fell back into the shadows.
A mile farther, and the great chateau, scintillating with lights, loomed up against the yellow sky.He felt a thrill of excitement.
Doubtless there would be some bright passages before the night drew to a close.He would make furious love to the pretty countess; it would be something in the way of relaxation.How would they greet him? What would be Madame's future plans in regard to Fitzgerald? How would she get him out of the way, now that he had served her purpose? He laughed.
"The future promises much," he said, half aloud."I am really glad that I came back.""Halt!"
Maurice drew up.A sentry stepped out into the road.
"O, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried.With a short laugh he disappeared.
"Hang me," grumbled Maurice as he went on, "these fellows have remarkable memories.I can't recollect any of them." He was mystified.
Shortly he came upon the patrol.The leader ordered him to dismount, an order be obeyed willingly, for he was longing to stand again.He shook his legs, while the leader struck a match.
"Why, it is Monsieur Carewe!" he cried."Good! We are coming out to meet you.This is a pleasure indeed."Maurice gazed keenly into the speaker's face, and to his surprise beheld the baron whose arm he had broken a fortnight since.He climbed on his horse again.
"I am glad you deem it a pleasure, baron," he said dryly."From what you imply, I should judge that you were expecting me.""Nothing less! Your departure from Bleiberg was known to us as early as two o'clock this after-noon," answered the baron.
"Permit us to escort you to the chateau before the ladies see you.'Tis a gala night; we are all in our best bib and tucker, as the English say.We believed at one time that you were not going to honor us with a second visit.Now to dress, both of us;at ten Madame the duchess arrives with General Duckwitz and Colonel Mollendorf, who is no relation to the late minister of police in Bleiberg."Underneath all this Maurice discerned a shade of mockery, and it disturbed him.
"First, I should like to know--" he began.
"Later, later!" cried the baron."The gates are but a dozen rods away.To your room first; the rest will follow.""The only clothes I have with me are on my back," said Maurice.
"We shall arrange that.Your guard-hussar uniform has been reserved for you, at the suggestion of the Colonel."And Maurice grew more and more disturbed.
"Were they courteous to you on the road?""Yes.But--"
"Patience! Here we are at the rear gates."Maurice found it impossible to draw back; three troopers blocked the rear, the baron and another rode at his sides, and four more were in advance.The rear gates swung open, and the little troop passed into the chateau confines.Maurice snatched a glimpse of the front lawns and terraces.The trees and walls were hung with Chinese lanterns; gay uniforms and shimmering gowns flitted across his vision.Somewhere within the chateau an orchestra was playing the overture from "Linda di Chamounix." Indeed, with all these brave officers, old men in black bedecked with ribbons, handsome women in a brilliant sparkle of jewels, it had the semblance of a gay court.It was altogether a different scene from that which was called the court of Bleiberg.There was no restraint here; all was laughter, music, dancing, and wines.The women were young, the men were young; old age stood at one side and looked on.And the charming Voiture-verse of a countess, Maurice was determined to seek her first of all.He vaguely wondered how Fitzgerald would carry himself throughout the ordeal.
The troopers dismounted in the courtyard.
"I'm a trifle too stiff to dance," Maurice innocently acknowledged.
