CHAPTER XXI. — AN INVITATION TO COURT
The spring was now advancing into full summer, and some time had passed since the Socialist party had gathered under their leaders to the voice of Lotys. Troublous days appeared to be impending for the Senate, and rumours of War,—war sometimes apparently imminent, and again suddenly averted,—had from time to time worried the public through the Press. But what was even more disturbing to the country, was the proposed infliction of new, heavy and irritating taxes, which had begun to affect the popular mind to the verge of revolt. Twice since Lotys had spoken at the People’s Assembly Rooms had Sergius Thord addressed huge mass meetings, which apparently the police had no orders to disperse, and his power over the multitude was increasing by leaps and bounds. Whenever he spoke, wherever he worked, the indefatigable Pasquin Leroy was constantly at his side, and he, in his turn began to be recognized by the Revolutionary Committee as one of their most energetic members,—able, resolute, and above all, of an invaluably inscrutable and self-contained demeanour. His two comrades were not so effectual in their assistance, and appeared to act merely in obedience to his instructions. Their attitude, however, suited everyone concerned as well as, if not better than, if they had been overzealous. Owing to what Leroy had stated concerning the possibility of his arrest as a spy, his name was never mentioned in public by one single member of the Brotherhood; and to the outside Socialist following, he therefore appeared simply as one of the many who worked under Sergius Thord’s command. Meanwhile, there were not lacking many other subjects for popular concern and comment; all of which in their turn gave rise to anxious discussion and vague conjecture. A Cabinet Council had been held by the Premier, at which, without warning, the King had attended personally, but the results were not made known to the public. Yet the general impression was that his Majesty seemed to be perfectly indifferent to the feelings or the well-being of his subjects; in fact, as some of them said with dismal shakings of the head, “It was all a part of the system; kings were not allowed to do anything even for the benefit of their people.” And rising Socialism, ever growing stronger, and amassing in its ranks all the youthful and ambitious intellects of the time, agreed and swore that it was time for a Republic. Only by a complete change of Government could the cruelly-increasing taxation be put down; and if Government was to be changed, why not the dummy figure-head of Government as well?
Thus Rumour talked, sometimes in whispers—sometimes in shouts;—but through it all the life of the Court and fashion went on in the same way,—the King continued to receive with apparent favour the most successful and most moneyed men from all parts of the world; the Queen drove or walked, or rode;—and the only prospective change in the social routine was the report that the Crown Prince was about to leave the country for a tour round the world, and that he would start on his journey in his own yacht about the end of the month. The newspapers made a great fuss in print over this projected tour; but the actual people were wholly indifferent to it. They had seen very little of the Crown Prince,—certainly not enough to give him their affection; and whether he left the kingdom or stayed in it concerned them not at all. He had done nothing marked or decisive in his life to show either talent, originality of character, or resolution; and the many ‘puffs’ in the press concerning him, were scarcely read at all by the public, or if they were, they were not credited. The expression of an ordinary working-man with regard to his position was entirely typical of the general popular sentiment;—“If he would only do something to prove he had a will of his own, and a mind, he would perhaps be able to set the Throne more firmly on its legs than it is at present.”
How thoroughly the young man had proved that he indeed possessed ‘a will of his own,’ was not yet disclosed to the outside critics of his life and conduct. Only the King and Queen, and Professor von Glauben knew it;—for even Sir Roger de Launay had not been entrusted with the story of his secret marriage. The Queen had received the news with her usual characteristic immobility. A faint cold smile had parted her lips as she listened to the story of her son’s romance,—and her reply to the King’s brief explanation was almost as brief:—
“Nearly all the aristocracy marry music-hall women!” she said; “One should therefore be grateful that a Crown Prince does not go lower in his matrimonial choice than an innocent little peasant!”
“The marriage is useless, of course,” said the King; “It has satisfied Humphry’s exalted notions of honour; but it can never be acknowledged or admitted.”
“Of course not!” she agreed languidly; “It certainly clears up the mystery of The Islands, which you were so anxious to visit;—and I suppose the next thing you will do is to marry him again to some daughter of a Royal house?”
“Most assuredly!”
“As you were married to me?” she said, raising her eyes to his face with that strange deep look which spoke eloquently of some mystery hidden in her soul.
His cheeks burned with an involuntary flush. He bowed.
“Precisely! As I married you!” he replied.
“The experiment was hardly successful!” she said with her little cold smile. “I fear you have often regretted it!”
He looked at her, studying her beauty intently,—and the remembrance of another face, far less fair of feature, but warm and impassioned by the lovely light of sympathy and tenderness, came between his eyes and hers, like a heavenly vision.
“Had you loved me,” he said slowly, “I might never have known what it was to need love!”
A slight tremor ran through her veins. There was a strange tone in his voice,—a soft cadence to which she was unaccustomed,—something that suggested a new emotion in his life, and a deeper experience.
“I never loved anyone in my life!” she answered calmly—“And now the days are past for loving. Humphry, however, has made up for my lack of the tender passion!”
She turned away indifferently, and appeared to dismiss the matter altogether from her mind. The first time she saw her son, however, after hearing of his marriage, she looked at him curiously.
“And so your wife is very lovely, Humphry!” she said with a slightly derisive smile.
He was not startled by the suddenness of her observation nor put out by it.
“She is the loveliest woman I have ever seen,—not excepting yourself,” he replied.
“It is a very foolish affair!” she continued composedly; “But fortunately in our line of life such things are easily arranged;—and your future will not be spoiled by it. I am glad you are going abroad, as you will very soon forget!”
The Prince regarded her steadfastly with something of grave wonderment as well as compassion,—but he made no reply, and with the briefest excuse left her presence as soon as possible, in order to avoid further conversation on the subject. She, herself, however, found her mind curiously perturbed and full of conjectures concerning her son’s idyllic love-story, in which all considerations for her as Queen and mother seemed omitted,—and where she, as it were, appeared to be shut outside a lover’s paradise, the delights of which she had never experienced. The King held many private conferences with her on the matter, in which sometimes Professor von Glauben was permitted to share;—and the upshot of these numerous discussions resulted in a scheme which was as astonishing in its climax as it was unexpected. Over and over again it has been proved to nations as well as to individuals, that the whole course of events may be changed by the fixed determination of one resolute mind; but it is not often that the moral force of a mere girl succeeds in competing with the authority of kings and parliaments. But so it chanced on this occasion, and in the following manner.
One glorious early morning, the sun having risen without a cloud in the deep blue of the sky, and the sea being as calm as an inland lake, the King’s yacht was seen to weigh anchor and steam away at her fullest speed towards The Islands. Little or no preparation had been made for her short voyage; there was no Royal party on board, and the only passenger was Professor von Glauben. He sat solitary on deck in a luxurious chair, smoking his meerschaum pipe, and dubiously considering the difficult and peculiar situation in which he was placed. He made no attempt to calculate the possible success or failure of his mission—‘for,’ said he very sagely, ‘it all depends on a woman, and God alone knows what a woman will do! Her ways are dark and wonderful, and altogether beyond the limit of the comprehension of man!’
His journey was undertaken at the King’s command; and equally by the King’s command he had been compelled to keep it a secret from Prince Humphry. He had never been to The Islands since the King’s ‘surprise visit’ there, and he was of course not aware that Gloria now knew the real rank and position of her supposed ‘sailor’ husband. He was at present charged to break the news to her, and bring her straightway to the palace, there to confront both the King and Queen, and learn from them the true state of affairs.
“It is a cruel ordeal,” he said, shaking his head sorrowfully; “Yet I myself am a party to its being tried. For once in my life I have pinned my faith on the unspoilt soul of an unworldly woman. I wonder what will come of it? It rests entirely with Gloria herself, and with no one else in the world!”
As the yacht arrived at its destination and dropped anchor at some distance from the pier, owing to the shallowness of the tide at that hour of the day, The Islands presented a fair aspect in the dancing beams of the summer sunlight. Numbers of fruit trees were bursting into blossom,—the apple, the cherry, the pink almond and the orange blossom all waved together and whispered sweetness to one another in the pure air, and the full-flowering mimosa perfumed every breath of wind. Fishermen were grouped here and there on the shore, mending or drying their nets; and in the fields beyond could be perceived many workers pruning the hedges or guiding the plough. The vision of a perfect Arcadia was presented to the eye; and so the Professor thought, as getting into the boat lowered for him, he was rowed from the yacht to the landing-place, and there dismissed the sailors, warning them that at the first sound of his whistle they should swiftly come for him again.
“What a pity to spoil her peace of mind—her simplicity of life!” he thought, as he walked at a slow and reluctant pace towards Ronsard’s cottage; “And I fear we shall have trouble with the old man! I wonder if his philosophy will stand hard wear and tear!”
The pretty, low timber-raftered house confronted him at the next bend in the road, and presented a charming aspect of tranquillity. The grass in front of it was smooth as velvet and emerald-green, and in one of the flower borders Ronsard himself was digging and planting. He looked up as he heard the gate open, but did not attempt to interrupt his work;—and Von Glauben advanced towards him with a considerable sense of anxiety and insecurity in his mind. Anon he paused in the very act of greeting, as the old man turned his strong, deeply-furrowed countenance upon him with a look of fierce indignation and scorn.
“So! You are here!” he said; “Have you come to look upon the evil your Royal master has worked? Or to make dutiful obeisance to Gloria as Crown-Princess?”
Von Glauben was altogether taken aback.
“Then—you know—?” he stammered.
“Oh yes, I know!” responded Ronsard sternly and bitterly; “I know everything! There has been full confession! If the husband of my Gloria were more prince than man, my knife would have slit his throat! But he is more man than prince!—and I have let him live—for her sake!”
“Well—that is so far good!” said Von Glauben, wiping the perspiration from his brow, and heaving a deep sigh of relief; “And as you fully comprehend the situation, it saves me the trouble of explaining it! You are a philosopher, Ronsard! Permit me to remind you of that fact! You know, like myself, that what is done, even if it is done foolishly, cannot be undone!”
“I know it! Who should know it so well as I!” and Ronsard set a delicate rose-tree roughly in the hole he had dug for it, and began to fiercely pile in the earth around it;—“Fate is fate, and there is no gainsaying it! The law of Compensation will always have its way! Look you, man!—and listen! I, Réné Ronsard, once killed a king!—and now in my old age, the only creature I ever loved is tricked by the son of a king! It is just! So be it!”
He bent his white head over his digging again, and Von Glauben was for a moment silent, vaguely amazed and stupefied by this sudden declaration of a past crime.
“You should not say ‘tricked,’ my friend!” he at last ventured to remark; “Prince Humphry is an honest lad;—he means to keep his word!”
Ronsard looked up, his eyes gleaming with fury.
“Keep his word? Bah! How can he? Who in this wide realm will give him the honourable liberty to keep his word? Will he acknowledge Gloria as his wife before the nation?—she a foundling and a castaway? Will he make her his future queen? Not he! He will forsake her, and live with another woman, in sin which the law will sanctify!”
He went on planting the rose-tree, then,—dropping his spade,—tossed up his head and hands with a wild gesture.
“What, and who is this God who so ordains our destiny!” he exclaimed; “For surely this is His work,—not mine! Hidden away from all the world with my life’s secret buried in my soul, I, without wife, or children or friends, or any soul on earth to care whether I lived or died, was sent an angel comforter;—the child I rescued from the sea! ‘Gloria, Gloria in excelsis Deo!’ the choristers sang in the church when I found her! I thought it true! With her,—in every action, in every thought and word, I strove,—and have faithfully striven,—to atone for my past crime;—for I was forced through others to kill that king! When proved guilty of the deed, I was told by my associates to assume madness,—a mere matter of acting,—and, being adjudged as insane, I was sent with other criminals on a convict ship, bound for a certain coast-prison, where we were all to be kept for life. The ship was wrecked off the rocks yonder, and it was reported that every soul on board went down, but I escaped—only I,—for what inscrutable reason God alone knows! Finding myself saved and free, I devoted my life to hard work, and to doing all the good I could think of to atone—to atone—always to atone! Then the child was sent to me; and I thought it was a sign that my penance was accepted; but no!—no!—the compensating curse falls,—not on me,—not on me, for if only so, I would welcome it—but on Her!—the child of my love—the heart of my heart!—on Her!”
He turned away his face, and a hard sob broke from his labouring chest. Von Glauben laid a gentle, protective hand on his shoulder.
“Ronsard, be a man!” he said in a kind, firm voice; “This is the first time you have told me your true history—and—I shall respect your confidence! You have suffered much—equally you have loved much! Doubt not that you are forgiven much. But why should you assume, or foresee unhappiness for Gloria? Why talk of a curse where perhaps there is only an intended blessing? Is she unhappy, that you are thus moved?”
Ronsard furtively dashed away the tears from his eyes.
“She? Gloria unhappy? No,—not yet! The delights of spring and summer have met in her smile,—her eyes, her movements! It was she herself who told me all! If he had told me, I would have killed him!”
“Eminently sensible!” said Von Glauben, recovering his usual phlegmatic calm; “You would have killed the man she loves best in the world. And so with perfect certainty you would have killed her as well,—and probably yourself afterwards. A perfect slaughterhouse, like the last scene in Hamlet, by the so admirable Shakespeare! It is better as it is. Life is really very pleasant!”
He sniffed the perfumed air,—listened with appreciation to the trilling of a bird swinging on a bough of apple-blossom above him, and began to feel quite easy in his mind. Half his mission was done for him, Prince Humphry having declared himself in his true colours. “I always said,” mused the Professor, “that he was a very honest young man! And I think he will be honest to the end.” Aloud he asked:
“When did you know the truth?”
“Some days since,” replied Ronsard. “He—Gloria’s husband—I can as yet call him by no other name—came suddenly one evening;—the two went out together as usual, and then—then my child returned alone. She told me all,—of the disguise he had assumed—and of his real identity—and I—well! I think I was mad! I know I spoke and acted like a madman!”
“Nay, rather say like a philosopher!” murmured Von Glauben with a humorous smile; “Remember, my good fellow, that there is no human being who loses self-control more easily and rapidly than he who proclaims the advantage of keeping it! And what did Gloria say to you?”
Ronsard looked up at the tranquil skies, and was for a moment silent. Then he answered.
“Gloria is—just Gloria! There is no woman like her,—there never will be any woman like her! She said nothing at all while I raged and swore;—she stood before me white and silent,—grand and calm, like some great angel. Then when I cursed him,—she raised her hand, and like a queen she said: ‘I forbid you to utter one word against him!’ I stood before her mute and foolish. ‘I forbid you!’ She,—the child I reared and nurtured—menaced me with her ‘command’ as though I were her slave and servant! You see I have lost her!—she is not mine any more—she is his—to be treated as he wills, and made the toy of his pleasure! She does not know the world, but I know it! I know the misery that is in store for her! But there is yet time—and I will live to avenge her wrong!”
“Possibly there will be no wrong to avenge,” said Von Glauben composedly; “But if there is, I have no doubt you would kill another king!” Ronsard turned pale and shuddered. “It is stupid work, killing kings,” went on the Professor; “It never does any good; and often increases the evil it was intended to cure. Your studies in philosophy must have taught you that much at least! As for your losing Gloria,—you lost her in a sense when you gave her to her husband. It is no use complaining now, because you find he is not the man you took him for. The mischief is done. At any rate you are bound to admit that Gloria has, so far, been perfectly happy; she will be happy still, I truly believe, for she has the secret of happiness in her own beautiful nature. And you, Ronsard, must make the best of things, and meet fate with calmness. To-day, for instance, I am here by the King’s command,—I bear his orders,—and I have come for Gloria. They want her at the Palace.”
Ronsard stepped out of his flower-border, and stood on the greensward amazed, and indignantly suspicious.
“They want her at the Palace!” he repeated; “Why? What for? To do her harm? To make her miserable? To insult and threaten her? No, she shall not go!”
“Look here, my friend,” said the Professor with mild patience; “You have—for a philosopher—a most unpleasant habit of jumping to wrong conclusions! Please endeavour to compose the tumult in your soul, and listen to me! The King has sent for Gloria, and I am instructed to take charge of her, and escort her to the presence of their Majesties. No insult, no threat, no wrong is intended. I will bring her back again safe to you immediately the audience is concluded. Be satisfied, Ronsard! For once ‘put your trust in princes,’ for her husband will be there,—and do you think he would suffer her to be insulted or wronged?”
Ronsard’s sunken eyes looked wild,—his aged frame trembled violently, and he gave a hopeless gesture.
“I do not know—I do not know!” he said incoherently; “I am an old man, and I have always found it a wicked world! But—if you give me your word that she shall come to no harm, I will trust you!”
Silently Von Glauben took his hand and pressed it. Two or three minutes passed, weighted with unuttered and unutterable thoughts in the minds of both men; and then, in a somewhat hushed voice, the Professor said:
“Ronsard, I am just now reminded of the tragic story of Rudolf of Austria, who killed himself through the maddening sorrow of an ill-fated love! We, in our different lines of life should remember that,—and let no young innocent heart suffer through our follies—our rages against fate—our conventions—our more or less idiotic laws of restraint and hypocrisy. The tragedy of Prince Rudolf and the unhappy Marie Vetsera whom he worshipped, was caused by the sin and the falsehood of others,—not by the victims of the cruel catastrophe. Therefore, I say to you, my friend, be wise in time!—and control the natural stormy tendency of your passions in this present affair. I assure you, on my faith and honour as a man, that the King has a kindly heart and a brave one,—together with a strong sense of justice. He is not truly known to his people;—they only see him through the pens of press reporters, or the slavish descriptions of toadies and parasites. Then again, the Crown Prince is an honourable lad; and from what I know of him, he is not likely to submit to conventional usages in matters which are close to his life and heart. Gloria herself is of such an exceptional character and disposition, that I think she may be safely left to arbitrate her own destiny——”
“And the Queen?” interrupted Ronsard suddenly;—“She, at any rate, as a woman, wife and mother, will be gentle?”
“Gentle, she certainly is,” said Von Glauben, with a slight sigh; “But only because she does not consider it worth while to be otherwise! God has put a stone in the place where her heart should be! However,—she will have little to say, and still less to do with to-day’s business. You tell me you will trust me; I promise you, you shall not repent your trust! But I must see Gloria herself. Where is she?”
Ronsard pointed towards the cottage.
“She is in there, studying,” he said; “Books of the old time;—books that few read. She gets them all from Sergius Thord. How would it be, think you, if he knew?”
The pleasantly rubicund countenance of the Professor grew a shade paler.
“Sergius Thord—Sergius Thord?—H’m—h’m—let me see!—who is he? Ah! I remember,—he is the Socialist lion, for ever roaring through the streets and seeking whom he may devour! I daresay he is not without cleverness!”
“Cleverness!” echoed Ronsard; “That is a tame word! He has genius, and the people swear by him. Since the proposed new taxation, and other injustices of the Government, he has gained adherents by many thousands. You,—whom I once took to be a mere German schoolmaster, a friend of the young ‘sailor’ whom my child so innocently wedded,—you whom I now know to be the King’s physician—surely you cannot live on the mainland, and in the metropolis, without knowing of the power of Sergius Thord?”
“I know something—not much;” replied the Professor guardedly; “But come, my friend, I have not deceived you! I was in very truth a poor ‘German schoolmaster,’ once,—before I became a student of medicine and surgery. And that I am the King’s physician, is merely one of those accidental circumstances which occur in a world of chance. But schoolmaster as I have been, I doubt if I would set our ‘Glory-of-the-Sea’ to study books recommended to her by Sergius Thord. The poetry of Heine is more suitable to her age and sex. Let us break in upon her meditations.” And he walked across the grass with one arm thrust through that of Ronsard; “For she must prepare herself. We ought to be gone within an hour.”
They passed under the low, rose-covered porch into a wide square room, with raftered ceiling and deep carved oak ingle nook,—and here at the table, with a quarto volume opened out before her, sat Gloria, resting her head on one fair hand, her rich hair falling about her in loose shining tresses, and her whole attitude expressive of the deepest absorption in study. As they entered, she looked up and smiled,—then rose, her hand still resting on the open book.
“At last you have come again, dear Professor!” she said; “I began to think you had grown weary in well-doing!”
Von Glauben stared at her, stricken speechless for a moment. What mysterious change had passed over the girl, investing her with such an air of regal authority? It was impossible to say. To all appearance she was the same beautiful creature, clad in the same simple white homespun gown,—yet were she Empress of half the habitable globe, she could not have looked more environed with dignity, sweetness and delicately gracious manner. He understood the desolating expression of Ronsard,—‘You see I have lost her!—she is not mine any more—she is his!’ He recognised and was suddenly impressed by that fact;—she was ‘his’—the wife of the Crown Prince and Heir-Apparent to the Throne;—and evidently with the knowledge of her position had arisen the pride of love and the spirit of grace to support her honours worthily. And so, as Von Glauben met her eyes, which expressed their gentle wonder at his silence, and as she extended her hand to him, he came slowly forward and bowing low, respectfully kissed that hand.
“Princess,” he said, in a voice that trembled ever so slightly; “I shall never be weary in well-doing,—if you are good enough to call my service and friendship for you by that name! I hesitated to come before,—because I thought—I feared—I did not know!—”
“I understand!” said Gloria tranquilly; “You did not think the Prince, my husband, would tell me the truth so soon! But I know all, and now—I am glad to know it! Dearest,” and she moved swiftly to Ronsard who was standing silent in the doorway—“come in and sit down! You make yourself so tired sometimes in the garden;” and she threw a loving arm about him. “You must rest; you look so pale!”
For all answer, he lifted the hand that hung about his neck, to his lips and kissed it tenderly.
“They want you, Gloria!” he said tremulously; “They want you at the Palace. You must go to-day!”
She lifted her brilliant eyes enquiringly to Von Glauben, who responded to the look by at once explaining his mission. He was there, he said, by the King’s special command;—their Majesties had been informed of their son’s marriage by their son himself; and they desired at once to see and speak with their unknown daughter-in-law. The interview would be private; his Royal Highness the Crown Prince would be present;—it might last an hour, perhaps longer,—and he, Von Glauben, was entrusted to bring Gloria to the Palace, and escort her back to The Islands again when all was over. Thus, with elaborate and detailed courtesy, the Professor unfolded the nature of his enterprise, while Gloria, still keeping one arm round Ronsard, heard and smiled.
“I shall obey the King’s command!” she said composedly; “Though,—having no word from the Prince, my husband, concerning this mandate,—I might very well refuse to do so! But it may be as well that their Majesties and their son’s wife should plainly, and once for all, understand each other. Dear Professor, you look sadly troubled. Is there some little convention, some special ceremonial of so-called ‘good manners,’ which you are commissioned to teach me, before I make my appearance at Court under your escort?”
Her lovely lips smiled,—her eyes laughed,—she looked the very incarnation of Beauty triumphant. Von Glauben’s brain whirled,—he felt bewitched and dazzled.
“I?—to teach you anything? No, my princess!—and please think how loyally I have called you ‘Princess’ from the beginning!—I have always told you that you have a spiritual knowledge far surpassing all material wisdom. Conventions and ceremonials are not for you,—you will make fashion, not follow it! I am not troubled, save for your sake, dear child!—for you know nothing of the world, and the ways of the Court may at first offend you—”
“The ways of Hell must have seemed dark to Proserpine,” said Ronsard in his harsh, strong voice; “But Love gave her light!”
“A very just reminder!” said Von Glauben, well pleased;—“Consider Gloria to be the new Proserpine to-day! And now she must forgive me for playing the part of a tyrannical friend, and urging her to hasten her preparations.”
Gloria bent down and kissed Ronsard gently.
“Trust me, little father!” she whispered; “You have not taught me great lessons of truth in vain!”
Aloud she said.
“The King and Queen wish to see me and speak with me,—and I know the reason why! They desire to fully explain to me all that my husband has already told me,—which is that according to the rules made for monarchs, our marriage is inadmissible. Well!—I have my answer ready; and you, Professor, shall hear me give it! Wait but a few moments and I will come with you.”
She left the room. The two men looked at each other in silence. At last Von Glauben said:—
“Ronsard, I think you will soon reap the reward of your ‘life-philosophy’ system! You have fed that girl from her childhood on strong intellectual food, and trained the mental muscles rather than the physical ones. Upon my word, I believe you will see a good result!”
Ronsard, who had grown much calmer and quieter during the last few minutes, raised himself a little from the chair into which he had sunk with an air of fatigue, and looked dreamily towards the open lattice window, where the roses hung in a curtain of crimson blossom.
“If it be so, I shall praise God!” he said; “But the years have come and gone with me so peacefully since I made my home on these quiet shores, that the exercise of what I have presumed to call ‘philosophy’ has had no chance. Philosophy! It is well to preach it,—but when the blow of misfortune falls, who can practise it?”
“You can,” replied the Professor;—“I can! Gloria can! I think we all three have clear brains. There is a tendency in the present age to overlook and neglect the greatest power in the whole human composition,—the mental and psychical part of it. Now, in the present curious drama of events, we have a chance given to exercise it; and it will be our own faults if we do not make our wills rule our destinies!”
“But the position is intolerable—impossible!” said Ronsard, rising and pacing the room with a fresh touch of agitation. “Nothing can do away with the fact that we—my child and I—have been cruelly deceived! And now there can be only one of two contingencies; Gloria must be acknowledged as the Prince’s wife,—in which case he will be forced to resign all claim to the Throne;—or he must marry again, which makes her no wife at all. That is a disgrace which her pride would never submit to, nor mine;—for did I not kill a king?”
“Let me advise you for the future not to allude to that disagreeable incident!” said Von Glauben persuasively: “Exercise discretion,—as I do! Observe that I do not ask you what king you killed;—I am as careful on that matter as I am concerning the reasons for which I myself left my native Fatherland! I make it a rule never to converse on painful subjects. You tell me you have tried to atone; then believe that the atonement is made, and that Gloria is the sign of its acceptance, and—happy augury!—here she comes.”
They both instinctively turned to confront the girl as she entered. She had changed her ordinary white homespun gown for another of the same kind, equally simple, but fresh and unworn; her glorious bronze-chestnut hair was unbound to its full rippling length, and was held back by a band or fillet of curiously carved white coral, which surmounted the rich tresses somewhat in the fashion of a small crown, and she carried, thrown over one arm, the only kind of cloak she ever wore,—a burnous-like wrap of the same white homespun as her dress, with a hood, which, as the Professor slowly took out his glasses and fixed them on his nose out of mere mechanical habit, to look at her more closely, she drew over her head and shoulders, the soft folds about her exquisite face completing a classic picture of such radiant beauty as is seldom seen nowadays among the increasingly imperfect and repulsive specimens of female humanity which ‘progress’ combined with sensuality, produce for the ‘advancement’ of the race.
“I have no Court dress,” she said smiling; “And if I had I should not wear it! The King and Queen shall see me as my husband sees me,—what pleases him, must suffice to please them! I am quite ready!”
Von Glauben removed the spectacles he had needlessly put on. They were dim with a moisture which he furtively polished off, blinking his eyes meanwhile as if the light hurt him. He was profoundly moved—thrilled to the very core of his soul by the simplicity, frankness and courage of this girl whose education was chiefly out of wild Nature’s lesson-book, and who knew nothing of the artificial world of fashion.
“And I, my princess, am at your service!” he said; “Ronsard, it is but a few hours that we shall be absent. To-night with the rising of the moon we shall return, and I doubt not with the Prince himself as chief escort! Keep a good heart and have faith! All will be well!”
“All shall be well if Love can make it so!” said Ronsard;—“Gloria—my child—!” He held out his wrinkled hands pathetically, unable to say more. She sank on her knees before him, and tenderly drawing down those hands upon her head, pressed them closely there.
“Your blessing, dearest!” she said; “Not in speech—but in thought!”
There was a moment’s sacred silence;—then Gloria rose, and throwing her arms round the old man, the faithful protector of her infancy and girlhood, kissed him tenderly. After that, she seemed to throw all seriousness to the winds, and running out under the roses of the porch made two or three light dancing steps across the lawn.
“Come!” she cried, her eyes sparkling, her face radiant with the gaiety of her inward spirit; “Come, Professor! This is not what we call a poet’s day of dreams,—it is a Royal day of nonsense! Come!” and here she drew herself up with a stately air—“WE are prepared to confront the King!”
The Professor caught the infection of her mirth, and quickly followed her; and within the next half-hour Réné Ronsard, climbing slowly to the summit of one of the nearest rocks on the shore adjacent to his dwelling, shaded his eyes from the dazzling sunlight on the sea, and strained them to watch the magnificent Royal yacht steaming swiftly over the tranquil blue water, with one slight figure clad in white leaning against the mast, a figure that waved its hand fondly towards The Islands, and of whom it might have been said:
“Her gaze was glad past love’s own singing of,
And her face lovely past desire of love!”