It was arranged that Captain von Ompertz should stay there in hiding till a chance occurred of getting away in safety. His host left him comfortably stretched on a couch with a cloak wrapped round him. But when in the early morning Ludovic entered the room, his guest had flown, leaving a few scrawled lines of apology.
“I am none the less grateful because I cannot be a burden to you. The chance of escape over the net is as fair to-day as it will be to-morrow, and I hate suspense. If I get clear away you shall hear from me (though I know not your name); if not you will assuredly hear of me. A thousand thanks from your grateful servant, A. v. O.”
CHAPTER IV
IN THE ROYAL CHAPEL
IT was in obedience to a very natural prompting that in his walks about the city Ludovic’s feet should be inevitably turned in the direction of the palace. Perhaps he hoped—of course he did—that chance might give him a glimpse of that provoking beauty, Princess Ruperta. The fascination was intensified by the strange situation in which he had met her. For it showed an underlying stratum of a far different and warmer nature beneath the hard, frozen surface that the world saw and noted, and, try as it would, could make no impression upon. So! Princess Cold-heart was human after all. He laughed as he spoke the words in his solitary ramble. Human? yes. But what chance had the humanity, the girl’s real feelings, to expand and flourish enmeshed in the rigid formality and etiquette, in the killing monotony of a German Court? And under the eye, benign and relentless, of that inscrutable, busy state-machine, the Chancellor Rollmar, what play-room could there be for a girl’s spirits and enjoyment of life? Small wonder, he thought, if she broke bounds, careless because ignorant of danger. A girl of high-spirited temperament is not to be completely repressed even by an astute and autocratic Minister. Does not rebellion thrive on oppression?
Ludovic had come to Waldenthor well provided with credentials. Only a night or two after his arrival he had attended a Court ball; and it was from his sight of the Princess on that occasion that he had been able to recognise her on the evening of her adventure. He was free of the Palace grounds, but after the affair at the fortune-teller’s, he, from motives of delicacy, refrained from walking in them. He would not seem to take advantage of his service by forcing himself upon the notice of the Princess. To hover on the outskirts, though, was a greater temptation than he, perhaps, could resist. And at last the hovering grew so tantalising that he told himself there could be no harm in taking a short road to the city by the broad walk which ran through the royal park. His way took him within a few paces of the King’s chapel. The tones of the organ in a subdued grandeur trembled out through the effigied windows. The witchery of the music, united with the glamour of the place, hallowed by romance ever since the days of chivalry, had an arresting effect. Ludovic stopped, took off his hat and leaning against a great elm, gave himself up to the entrancement of the moment.
Like a subtle spell the music stole out into the woodland till the quivering of the leaves seemed hushed by the charm; the place became fairyland, but the haunt of fairies of flesh and blood with souls for life and love, for dreams and hopes sweetening to fulfilment. If heaven was suggested there, it was heaven on earth.
There was a pause in the playing, but the spell which seemed to hold the listener was not broken. He remained motionless in his abstraction. Then the music floated out again in a lovely Andante of Scarlatti’s. The dreamy look turned to animation, he must drink to the full of that divine melody; he went forward on tip-toe to a little door which stood ajar, pushed it gently open and stood raptly breathing in the glorious strain which, rising and falling, flooded the chapel as with an angel’s song.
As the last notes trembled away along the groined roof Ludovic stole forward. The organ burst forth again. From where he stood a screen hid the player; by advancing a little farther he could see past it. Quietly he moved on, still the keyboard was hidden by a low curtain. But he saw something else which rewarded and at the same time rebuked his temerity, a girl working the handle of the bellows. It was Countess Minna, the Princess’s companion. Half sitting on a stool, she with a pretty suggestion of boredom was giving, as occasion called for, a casual and now and then an impatient pull at the handle which projected like a bowsprit before her. One hand grasped this, with the other she held up a book, but the necessity of not keeping her eyes too long off the leaden indicator must have made reading a somewhat tantalising pleasure. She would give a slow mechanical pull or two at the lever, then presently glancing up and seeing the wind nearly gone she would take both hands and giving a sufficient number of vicious tugs to bring the lead to its lowest point, she would return to her book. It was at one of these more energetic pumpings that the intruder’s presence caught her eye. She started and her face lengthened into an expression of humorous, half scandalized astonishment. This distraction lasted so long that the lead crept up unnoticed and the wind gave out bringing the melody to an abrupt and wheezy halt.
“Minna!” The Princess’s voice only confirmed the certainty Ludovic had felt as to the player.
“Pardon!” Minna energetically seized the handle and gave several vigorous pulls. “My book was so exciting that I forgot.”