Of course, he readily granted her permission to make the journey to the favourite resort, and to stay there for at least a month. Maria, therefore, packed up her trunks, and started for Aix-la-Chapelle. The woman had a fairly large sum of money saved, and, anxious to meet the best people, she put up at a first-class hotel, and placed herself under the care of a physician with a European reputation. In this way she acquired position at once in the hotel, and while carefully suppressing the fact that she was the Cannon King's housekeeper she let it be known that she derived her means from him.
Everybody thereupon assumed that she was a relation of Krupp's, and after that expressed no surprise that she should be so rich.
The tall woman with the red face, who looked so grotesque in her fashionable clothes, was most assiduous in following her doctor's orders, and she was soon a well-known figure amongst the patients, who came from all parts of the world. When the scores of impecunious German officers heard that she was actually related to the millionaire Krupp they crowded round her, and the widow took their admiration as due entirely to her personal charm! Every day she had more invitations to lunch than she could accept, and there was keen competition for the honour of escorting her to the theatre or opera. This was, indeed, life, and, large as was Frederick Krupp's monthly cheque, she began to look forward to the time when she would be independent of it, and would have an officer husband—the ambition of every German woman—and a home of her own to manage.
Then suddenly she met, purely by accident, a man who raised her ambitions even higher. Hitherto she had considered it bliss to hear a young officer of the Prussian Guards whisper insincerities into her ear, but once she became acquainted with a future King she forgot all other men.
It was a very hot afternoon in mid-August, 1897, when Maria, walking slowly between an avenue of trees, slipped on a piece of orange-peel, and she would have met with a serious accident had not a gentleman caught her in time. The shock, however, gravely affected her, and her rescuer had to escort her to a friendly seat to give her time to recover. There he waited politely until she signified that she was better, and it was only then that she took notice of him. She saw a man above medium height with a saturnine countenance, dark eyes and a black moustache. She noticed that the expression of his mouth hovered between a sneer and a scowl, and somehow his grey suit and light Homburg hat failed to give a touch of relief to an exterior not at all pleasing. However, Maria was too great a "perfect lady" not to feel grateful for the service he had rendered her, and she thanked him, ending up by revealing her identity.
"I am charmed, madame," said the stranger, speaking in French. "My name is—but, no, I must respect my incognito. I am Count d'Este. You can know me by that." A profound bow followed, and the next moment the count had disappeared.
Marie went back to her hotel with the words "incognito" and "count" ringing in her ears. She was sure that the stranger had been impressed by her, and she was equally certain that he was a great man, for only monarchs and their heirs talked of travelling "incognito." He was undoubtedly something better than a count, although Maria had an exaggerated veneration for any title of nobility.
Of course, the "lady housekeeper from Essen" procured an Almanach de Gotha at the hotel, but as it was not illustrated, she could not identify the mysterious gentleman, and she might have given up the task had she not met him again at the same place the following day. On this occasion he came straight up to her, and in the most charming and natural manner entered into conversation, carefully inquiring first if she had suffered any ill-consequences from the previous day's mishap, and expressing the greatest delight when she declared that she was quite well again.
They parted after half an hour, the count in a sad voice informing her that owing to fear of being recognized and his incognito not being respected he could not ask her to be his guest at a restaurant. The remark fired her curiosity, and she went at once to the public library, and within a quarter of an hour was surrounded by a score of books on the royal families of Europe. It took her, however, nearly two hours to solve the mystery, and it was a bound volume of the Paris Figaro that gave her the clue she was seeking.
"He's the Archduke Francis Ferdinand," she whispered to herself, and her body vibrated. "The heir to the throne! And we're such good friends! Now I'll have no difficulty in being received into the society that I've always longed to enter."