There was one circumstance, however, that gave Bennett unalloyed satisfaction in this hour of peril and discomfort. The social barrier between the Princess Hilda and himself had been broken down at one blow. They were both fugitives, and, although she might hold him responsible for the downfall of King Rudolph, he was, nevertheless, in a position to be of great service to her in the crises that were sure to confront them in the near future. As he caught a glimpse of her stately figure in the flickering gleam thrown by a match lighted by the dwarf, as they reached the bottom of the long stairway, a sensation of ecstatic triumph thrilled Bennett’s soul. Down here in the damp depths of this gigantic cellar there were no kings, no princesses, no counts, no barons. They were all adventurers. The equality begotten of misfortune had placed the American upon a new plane, and he rejoiced at the prospect that opened before his mind’s eye. It would go hard, indeed, if he could not prove his fealty to the princess by a method less heroic, perhaps, but more satisfactory than that of voluntary banishment. Nevertheless, he realized that at this moment the princess looked upon him as a perjured and recreant knight, no longer worthy of rank on the lists of chivalry.
“What next, Cousin Fritz?” asked King Rudolph, puffing heavily and peering anxiously around him. “We seem to be in the wine cellar.”
“We are, your majesty,” answered the dwarf. “We are surrounded by vintages worth a king’s ransom. Pardon me, your majesty. I didn’t mean to be personal. But, follow me a little further, and I will fulfil my promise regarding your safety and comfort.”
A moment later the fugitives stood in a large, damp room, in which Cousin Fritz seemed thoroughly at home. He scurried about, lighting candles, pushing pieces of antique furniture toward his guests and keeping up a running fire of comment on the honor paid him by a visit from royalty. Now and then he would drop a sarcastic remark that suggested to Bennett the line of thought the dwarf’s mind was pursuing. Cousin Fritz, monarch of Hesse-Heilfels for a thousand years, was proving openly at last that he was more powerful than any temporary monarch who held the throne in the eyes of a short-sighted world. Here in his secret apartments was the real centre of royalty in Hesse-Heilfels. Could he not afford to let the petty kings up above fret their lives away while he, to whom a century was but a single day, reigned undisturbed, but all-powerful, over the realm they thought was theirs?
“Your majesty needs repose,” said Cousin Fritz imperiously, pointing toward an ancient divan in a distant corner of the room. “You are out of spirits, out of breath, and out of danger. Lie down and take your rest. We have much to do later on, and we must begin the day fresh from a little sleep.”
King Rudolph gazed blankly at the dwarf. The deposed monarch seemed to feel the severe physical exertion he had undergone, and his breath came and went with painful effort. He stumbled toward the divan and stretched himself thereon with a groan. The princess stood by the side of his rude couch and gently rubbed the brow from which a crown had so recently fallen. In a moment the king had dropped into a restless sleep and was snoring with a royal indifference to the comfort of others curiously characteristic of the Schwartzburgers.
Cousin Fritz deferentially approached the Princess Hilda, and, taking her hand, led her to a corner of the room that lay deep in shadow. Pulling aside a heavy, moth-eaten curtain, the dwarf pointed to an inner and smaller room and said:
“Your apartment awaits you, princess. In the hurry of our departure I forgot to summon one of your women to attend you. I will repair this oversight at once, however. I hope you will forgive my carelessness.”
A sad smile played across the wan face of the princess.