She had begun by writing to Rudolph, imploring him to see her; and he had plunged into the adventure, as he had plunged into so many previous adventures, with a light heart, not guessing whither it would lead him. She had gone on to insult the Crown Princess—staring her full in the face, and not recognising her presence in a ball-room. Her mother, crimson with anger—for her own social position was obviously imperilled by such behaviour on her daughter’s part—had hurried her off and locked her up in her room; and then Rudolph, hearing what had happened, went to see Countess Marie, and required a service of her:
“Listen. I want you to bring Mary to me at the Hofburg.”
“I assure you it is necessary for me to see Mary. Besides, I myself am in great danger.”
“I must speak to Mary alone; it may possibly help me to escape the trouble which threatens me.”
Those are the essential sentences; and they strike one as madly inconsequent. For why should a private interview with Mary be necessitated by the fact that Rudolph was “in danger”? How could such an interview help him to escape the trouble which threatened him,—that trouble being, as he went on to explain to Countess Marie, political? Countess Marie does not answer these questions; she writes as if she did not even perceive them to be questions which a sceptical critic of her narrative would inevitably ask. She goes on, instead, to speak of Rudolph’s political troubles, and of the part which he called upon her to play in covering them up:
“‘Listen!’ he said. ‘If I were to confide in the Emperor, I should sign my own death warrant.’ My heart nearly stopped beating at this dreadful disclosure, and I could say nothing.”
THE HOFBURG, VIENNA.
Then Rudolph handed Countess Marie a steel casket which he asked her to take charge of, saying:
“It is imperative that it should not be found in my possession, for at any moment the Emperor may order my personal belongings to be seized.”