CHAPTER IX.
The Princess Hilda opened her eyes wearily. She had slept for several hours, but her first sensation as she woke was one of utter misery. Sleep had brought with it no refreshment, no exhilaration. The mere joy of living, that so often thrilled her in the morning, she seemed to have lost forever. The twilight that reigned in this subterranean apartment, the sudden recollection of the grim disasters of the previous day, the discomfort that resulted from sleeping fully dressed, and the sensation of utter loneliness that came over her, combined to render her awakening painful. She turned impatiently upon her couch. Suddenly a smile of joy lighted her sad face. Fraulein Müller, her favorite attendant, a plump, red-cheeked young woman of twenty, was seated by her side.
“Good morning, your highness,” cried the maiden cheerily. “You seem glad to see me.”
“I am indeed,” said the princess warmly. “This has been, Gretchen, oh, such an awful night! I feel as if, somehow, my youth had gone forever; that I shall always be an old, old woman.”
Fraulein Müller laughed gayly. “It is not so bad as that, my princess. Lie quiet for a while and I will make you young again. See, I have brought with me many things that you need. I was heart-broken until Cousin Fritz, who can crawl through cracks in the floor or fly through the ceiling, stood suddenly by my side and told me to dry my tears and make ready to attend you. There were wild doings in the castle last night, and I sat with the other women in your apartments trembling at the awful sounds we heard. When Cousin Fritz appeared and told us that you were safe, we took him in our arms and kissed him until he kicked and swore and called us hard names. Then we dropped the wicked little angel and I got a few of your things into a bundle and followed him into the bowels of the earth. It wasn’t much fun, your highness, to creep through the darkness with that crazy little villain at my side, laughing wildly at my fears and pinching me now and then to hear me cry out with fright. But when I saw you lying here alone, I felt that I could hug Cousin Fritz. His head is queer enough, but he has a heart of gold.”
As she thus talked on, while she loosened the Princess Hilda’s hair and brushed out the golden-brown locks, the feeling of despair that had come over the royal fugitive departed. The princess was by temperament a sanguine, sunny-natured girl, cold and haughty toward those she could not trust, but cordially affectionate with her intimates. Her attendants had been recruited from the best families in the kingdom, and it was known throughout Hesse-Heilfels that the Princess Hilda, in spite of her proud bearing, was a very lovable creature.
“Tell me, Gretchen,” she said, glancing anxiously at Fraulein Müller, who was at that moment spreading a morning dress upon the bed, “tell me what has happened up above? Are the people—my people, as I loved to call them—really thirsting for my blood?”
Fraulein Müller laughed aloud. She was one of those rare creatures whose gayety cannot be suppressed by the most dismal surroundings.
“It was rumored when I came away, your royal highness, that your Uncle Wilhelm was bitterly disappointed at your disappearance. He is, it is said, anxious to get word to you that his plans did not include any change in your status at court. He has spread abroad the impression that he has deposed King Rudolph simply to save Hesse-Heilfels from ruin. He has no intention, it is reported, of altering your position in the kingdom. Somebody told me that he had made the remark that your uncle would still be king, but sane instead of mad.”
“Hush, Fraulein Müller,” said the princess sternly. “These walls are not to be trusted—as I well know—and I would not have King Rudolph hear what you have just said for worlds. How little Uncle Wilhelm knows my heart! King Rudolph has been to me a father since my childhood. Sane or mad, king or exile, he deserves my loyalty and love. Listen, Gretchen! I would die with Rudolph in this rat-hole sooner than return to Wilhelm’s court and countenance his treachery by silent acquiescence. I have striven to prevent this awful crisis. I have labored to turn my Uncle Rudolph from his mad ways. I have failed. But let it not be said that the Princess Hilda of Hesse-Heilfels changes her colors with the fortunes of her house. If loyalty to Rudolph means imprisonment, or even death, I shall follow his banner to the end.”
She stood there, flushed, defiant, beautiful, her eyes dark with the fervor of her passion; a girl no longer, for the stern discipline of evil fortune had made her a woman in a night. Never again would her heart dance merrily with the mere gayety of youth. She had lost something of the precious vivacity of girlhood, but in its place had come the strength and firmness that add a touch of grandeur to maturity.
Fraulein Müller gazed at her mistress with admiration. Never before had the maiden she had served seemed so thoroughly a queen as at this moment when she stood, a fugitive skulking in a cellar, bereft of everything that makes royalty impressive, and voiced to a single listener the noblest sentiments of loyalty. Above her shone the bright light of the summer sun, awakening a people who would gladly welcome her return to the pomp and state that had been hers throughout her life. Above her reigned a king who would place her by his side and reward her allegiance to his cause with power and dominion. In contrast with all this, what was offered her? An existence of wretched discomfort in the damp darkness of a rat-haunted chamber. A miserable present and an uncertain future. The companionship of ruined men, of a king whose crazy folly had hurled him from the pinnacle of power into the abysmal depths of despair and ruin. Here was a girl of eighteen, upon whom nature had lavished all her gifts, and to whom the world bowed down in loving homage, confronted by a choice from which the boldest man would have shrunk back in dismay. And the Princess Hilda gave up the sunshine for the darkness, the light of day for the gloom of night, the pleasures of the gladsome world for the grim shadows of a living tomb! Is it strange that in Hesse-Heilfels you should hear it said that in the Schwartzburger blood there is a strain of heroism that breaks out now and then, as the generations come and go?
Something of all this passed through Fraulein Müller’s mind as she gazed at the princess with eyes that looked upon her royal mistress with new reverence. She bent forward and kissed Hilda’s hand with loving deference. There were tears on the Fraulein’s cheeks as she smiled up at her mistress, from whose face the flush of excitement had departed.
“Ah, Gretchen,” said the princess wearily, “you must not weep! Surely, nothing can be gained by tears. But to be a woman is so hard! How powerless we are! Oh, for a man’s arm to-day, Gretchen! Were I a prince, do you know what I would do? If they had driven me down into this hole, I would find the powder magazine and blow those rebels into bits.”
Fraulein Müller laughed merrily. The ludicrous side of a situation always appealed first to her mind.
“Would it not be a grim revenge?” she cried. “But I fear, your highness, we would not live to enjoy it.”
At that moment a knock at the door recalled them to the exigencies of the hour. Fraulein Müller ran merrily toward the entrance.
That she and her mistress were not wholly alone was a reassuring thought.
“Who’s there?” she cried, smoothing back her hair from her brow and rearranging her skirts. The habits of a court are not quickly lost, even in a cellar.
“Cousin Fritz, my Lady Müller. An envoy from the reigning King of Hesse-Heilfels, Rudolph XII. I crave audience of the Princess Hilda.”
Fraulein Müller, smiling at the madcap’s pompous words, threw back the door. The dwarf instantly rushed in, turned quickly and pinched her arm with mischievous force, and then hurried forward, to throw himself upon one knee before the princess, the feather of his jaunty cap trailing on the floor.
“Your royal highness,” said he ceremoniously, his harsh voice penetrating to the furthest corners of the room. “Your liege lord, the King of Hesse-Heilfels, commends himself to you with loving words and commands your immediate presence in the dining-hall. Such is the message he ordered me to give you. Personally let me add, your royal highness, that this morning we draw to a full larder, and, if your appetite is good, I should advise you to take a hand in the game.”
The Princess Hilda could not restrain a smile at the dwarf’s words, but she felt a pang of annoyance at hearing again the poker jargon that had become synonymous, to her mind, with ruin and disgrace.
“Tell the king, Cousin Fritz,” she said, rising and moving toward the door, “that I will be with him at once.”