“It does not appear now,” pursued the imperturbable speaker, whom no blink of mine seemed to escape, “but there was a paleness, and the Court doctor decided there was likewise a trifling loss of tone and want of strength. He recommended a change of air, tonic baths, and grape cure. In consequence, after due deliberation and consultation, it was decreed that her Highness should be sent to a certain region in the mountains, where Höchst die Selbe has a grand, a most high, ducal aunt, the said region being noted for its salubrious air, its baths, the quality and extent of its vineyards. In company, therefore, of a few indispensable court officials—the Lord Chamberlain (as a responsible person for her Highness’s movements), the most gracious a certain aged and high born Gräfin (our chief Court lady, once the Highness’s own gouvernante), the second Court doctor, the third officier de bouche, and mine own humble self——”
Here she paused, and, with a sudden assumption of dolefulness that was certainly comic, proceeded in quite another voice:
“I am a person of no consequence at Court, Monsieur de la Faridondaine. I am merely tolerated because of her Highness’s goodness, and also because, you must know, that I have a reputation of being a source of amusement to her Serenity. You may already have noticed that it is fairly well founded that I am talkative and entertaining, as a lady-in-waiting should be, and this is the reason why I have attained a position to which my birth does not entitle me.”
A little frown came across the Princess’s smooth brow at these words. She shot a look of deprecation at her attendant, but the latter went on, resuming her former manner, in a bubbling of merriment:
“Facts are facts, you see—I am even hardly born. My mother happened to be liked by the mother of her Serene Highness—an angel—and when I was orphaned she took me closer to her. So we grew up together, her Highness and I, and so I come to be in so grand a place as a Court. There, Monsieur, you have in a word the history of Mademoiselle Marie Ottilie. I have no wish that she should ever seem to have appeared under false colours.”
The Princess, whose sensitive blood had again risen to a crimson tide, cast a very uneasy look at her companion. I could see how much her affectionate delicacy was wounded by this unnecessary candour.
But little mademoiselle, after returning the glance with one as mischievous and unfeeling as a jackdaw’s, continued, hugging her knees with every appearance of enjoyment:
“And now we come to the series of delightful accidents which brought us here. Behold! no sooner had we left the Court of—the Court her Highness belongs to—than the smallpox broke out in the Residenz and in the palace itself. The father of her Serenity had had it; there was no danger for him, and he was in the act of congratulating himself upon having sent the Princess out of the way, when, in the most charming manner (for the Ducal Court of her Highness’s aunt was even duller than Höchst die Selbe’s own, and after the tenth bunch of grapes you get rather tired of a grape cure, and as for mud baths—oh fie, the horror!), we discovered that we had brought the pretty illness with us. And first one and then the other of the retinue sickened and fell ill. Then a Court lady of the Duchess took it, and next who should develop symptoms but the old growl-bear and scratch-cat, our own chief Hofdame, chief duenna, and chief bore. That was a stroke of fortune, you must admit! But wait a moment, you have not heard the best of it yet.”
At the very first mention of the smallpox the Princess grew pale, and made the sign of the cross. And indeed it seemed to me, myself, a tempting of Providence to joke thus lightly about a malady so dangerous to life and so fatal to looks. But the girl proceeded coolly:
“Her Serene Highness, like her most venerated brother, had had the disease; I believe they underwent it together in their Serene Babyhood. But her Serene Highness was deeply alarmed by the danger to which her Serene niece was exposed. The Court doctor was no less concerned—it is a bad thing for a Court doctor if a princess in his charge fall a victim to an epidemic—so they put their heads together and resolved to send the exalted young lady into some safer region, in company of such of her retinue as seemed in the soundest health. An aged lady, mother of M. de Schreckendorf, our Chamberlain already described to you, dwells in these plains. As a matter of fact,” said the speaker, pointing a small finger in the direction of the town, “her castle is yonder. The Duchess had once condescended to spend a night there to break a journey, and it had remained stamped on her ducal memory that the place was quiet,—not to say a desert,—that there were vineyards close by, and also that the air was particularly salubrious. She knew, too, that the Countess Schreckendorf was quite equal to the guarding of any youthful Serenity, in short, a dragon of etiquette, narrow-mindedness, prudery, and ugliness. Together, therefore, with the Chamberlain, a few women, and the poor doctor, we were packed into a ducal chariot, and carted here, the Countess receiving the strictest orders not to divulge the tremendous altitude of her visitor’s rank. She would die rather than betray the trust,—especially as to thwart innocent impulses is one of her chief pleasures, nay, I may say her only pleasure in life. Little does she or the Highness her mistress suspect the existence of a Seigneur de la Faridondaine, roaming about in the guise of a simple Silesian shepherd and pretending to sleep in order to surprise the little secrets of wandering princesses! We were told, when we asked whether there was no neighbourly creature within reach, that the only one for leagues was a fearful old man with one eye and one tooth, who goes about using his cane as freely on every one’s shoulders as the Prussian king himself. Well, never mind, don’t speak, I have yet the cream of the tale to offer! We arrived here three weeks ago and found the grapes no more spicy, the castle no more amusing, and the neighbourhood more boring than even the ducal Court itself. But one excellent day, the good little Chamberlain began to look poorly, complained of his poor little head, and retired to his room. The next morning what does the doctor do, but pack him into a coach and drive away with him like a fury. Neither coach, nor postillions, nor doctor, nor Chamberlain, have been seen or heard of since! But I, who am awake with the birds, from my chamber window saw them go—for I heard the clatter in the courtyard, and by nature, M. the Captain, I am as curious as a magpie.”