Madame, like a statue of expectancy, riveted her gaze on the throne. Hers at last! Her dreams were realized. She was no longer a duchess by patent; she was a queen by right of inheritance; she was now to be a power among the great. The kingdom of her forefathers was hers. She had reached the goal without bloodshed; she had been patient, and this was her reward. The blaze of her ambition dimmed all other stars. Her bosom heaved, triumph flashed in her beautiful eyes, and a smile parted her lips. Her first thought had been to establish headquarters in the parlors of the Continental Hotel, and from there to summon the archbishop, as a conqueror summons the chief of the vanquished. But no; she could not wait; above all things she desired the satisfaction of the eye. The throne of her forefathers!
“Mine!” she murmured.
Over her shoulders peered eager faces, in which greed and pleasure and impassibility were written. One face, however, had on it the dull red of shame. Not until now did the full force of his intended dishonesty come home to the Englishman; not until now did he realize the complete degradation to which his uniform had lowered him. His had been the hand to stay this misfortune, and he had not lifted it. This king had been his father's friend; and he had taken up arms against him. O, he had begun life badly; he was making the end still more dismal. Would this woman ever be his? Her promises were not worth the air that had carried them to his ear. He, the consort of a queen? A cold sweat dampened his forehead. How he loved her! And that kiss.... Queen or not, he would not be her dupe, his would not be a tame surrender.
From the Platz and the Park, where the two armies had bivouacked, came an intermittent cheering. The flames of bonfires were reflected on the windows, throwing out in dull, yellow relief the faces of Madame and her staff.
Between the private apartments of the king and the throne room was a wide sliding door. Suddenly this opened and closed. With his back against it, a pistol in one hand and a saber in the other, stood Captain von Mitter, his face cold and resolute. All eyes were instantly directed toward him.
“Captain,” said Madame, imperiously, “summon to me Monseigneur the archbishop!”
Her command fell on ears of stone. Von Mitter made no sign that he heard her.
“Take care, Monsieur,” she warned; “I am mistress here. If you will not obey me, my officers will.”
“Madame, I acknowledge no mistress save the daughter of the king. No one shall pass this door to announce your presence to Monseigneur.”
This reply was greeted with sundry noises, such as sabers coming from scabbards, clicking of pistol locks, and the moving of feet. Madame put out her hand suggestively, and the noise ceased. Von Mitter smiled disdainfully, but did not stir.