The page darted off, and immediately returned. “The Count von Sigismark has just come, your Royal Highness. He is talking with the Lady Gertrude.”
“Ah! Is there no one else outside?”
“No, Madam. Count von Stahlen and Baron von Hardenburg have just gone away.”
“Good,” Hermengarde dismissed the lad with a nod, and then stood considering for a few seconds. Presently she lifted her head, and moved quietly towards the outer room.
The Count von Sigismark was the same personage whose protection she had sought fifteen years before. He was of a type which is fast disappearing in constitutionally-governed countries—a courtier statesman. Under King Leopold he had held the post of Comptroller of the Household, and in that capacity had neglected no opportunity of quietly serving the heir to the throne. Maximilian stood in need of kindness, and was not ungrateful for it. His first act of authority on ascending the throne had been to raise Von Sigismark from the rank of baron to that of count, and by a rapid course of promotion, the fortunate Comptroller soon found himself exalted to the highest position in the State as Chancellor of Franconia, and head of the Government. His powers had long been practically unchecked by interference from his royal master, and the epigrammatist Von Stahlen had gone so far as to give him the nickname of “the Regent”—a dangerous compliment, with which the cautious old Count was by no means pleased.
The favour which he enjoyed under Maximilian did not lead the wary courtier to neglect those in whose hands the power of the future might lie. While the present King remained without a direct heir, Hermengarde’s young son stood next in the succession to the throne. The Chancellor had carefully kept up his friendship with the Princess, and had induced her to receive his daughter Gertrude into her household. The Count was now a widower, and Gertrude was his only child.
The two young gentlemen with whom he had found his daughter engaged on this occasion were well-known characters in the Court. One has already been mentioned as its recognised wit; the other was his inseparable companion and admirer, whose business in life was to publish to the world the masterpieces of epigram which fell from his friend’s lips. These epigrams were thought by some to have more personality than point. It was Von Stahlen who had invented for Maximilian the sobriquet of “King of the Fairies.” This was complimentary, but most of his shafts were barbed with satire. Thus he had described Franconia in her relations with Prussia as “the kettle tied to the dog’s tail,” and had characterised the diplomacy of the Chancellor as “irritating efforts to soothe Bismarck.” Most people failed to see anything clever in these sayings, but everybody felt that it would be unpleasant to have the indefatigable Von Hardenburg spreading similar remarks about themselves. The Count von Stahlen was therefore universally dreaded and disliked, and was the most sought-after man in the whole Court.
Even Gertrude had not escaped his railing tongue. Having neglected him recently under the influence of some flattering attentions from King Maximilian himself, he had taken his revenge by referring to her as “the royal milkmaid”—a galling allusion to the fact that the fortunes of the Sigismarks had been founded less than three hundred years before by a dairyman in Mannhausen.
It was only natural that the beauty should now show herself extraordinarily gracious to her returning admirer. Seated on a low chair beside the couch on which she was leaning, the Count was just finishing an anecdote deeply to the discredit of a noblewoman who happened to be Gertrude’s bosom friend, when they were interrupted by the entrance of Von Sigismark.
“For shame!” laughed Gertrude, rising to greet her father. “How dare you tell me such things! You know the Viscountess is my friend.”