“Madame, if your brother heard you, he would scarcely feel able to rest.”
“True, but how is one to remember? Oh, Julie, I wish we could have gone on, however slowly, rather than waste time like this! Every sound terrifies me. If a band of pursuers were to appear, I believe I should die on the spot, simply of terror.”
“Madame, be calm. You are trembling from head to foot, and your brother’s task will be made almost impossible if you allow yourself to get into this state. Come into the kitchen, and we will talk to the woman, and ask her to find us something to do.”
In the primitive kitchen, where King Michael was lying flat on the earthen floor investigating the mysteries of a rat-hole behind the flour-bin, the two ladies spent an uneventful if anxious morning. So lonely was the place that only one wayfarer passed by, and he was going towards Tatarjé, not coming from it, but his arrival roused the Queen to fresh alarm. While the woman of the house was supplying the traveller with a glass of spirits in the rude verandah in front, King Michael was astonished to find himself seized and clutched fast by his mother, whose pale face and wild eyes filled him with amazement. As soon as he could he wriggled out of her grasp and returned to the rat-hole, while the Queen, in obedience to a warning look from Fräulein von Staubach, resumed her task of plucking a fowl, which she did very badly. As a patriotic German, Fräulein von Staubach attributed this inexpertness, in her conversation with the woman of the house, to the lack of domesticity among English ladies, and illustrated her remarks by some awful examples, much to the edification of the Thracian dame. To the Queen, who understood scarcely a word—for she had obstinately refused throughout her married life to study the language of her adopted country—the talk failed to afford much amusement; but it helped to pass away the weary hours, and the difficulties incident to her occupation prevented her mind from dwelling exclusively on her many reasons for anxiety. Still, it was with heartfelt relief that she hunted out King Michael from his corner at last, and carried him off into the yard behind the house to have the dust brushed off his clothes, and his face and hands washed before lunch, for the horses had been brought in, and the driver was giving a somewhat perfunctory cleaning to the untidy old carriage. They would soon be on their way again, she thought, and her relief made her smile pleasantly at Cyril as he emerged from his room, looking as spick and span as if he had come fresh from the skilful hands of Dietrich. The luncheon was set out in the sunny verandah before the house, and the little party that gathered round the uncovered table took their seats upon the rough benches, prepared to do full justice to the meal. An involuntary smile crossed Cyril’s face when he found himself at the head of the board, with the Queen and her boy on either side of him, while at the lower end of the table, and on the same bench as the Queen, were Paschics and Fräulein von Staubach.
“What are you laughing at, Arthur?” asked the Queen.
“I was wondering what Baroness von Hilfenstein would say if she saw us now,” he replied.
“Oh, let us forget the Baroness for a little!” she said impatiently. “This is a picnic in a different world. We are quite another set of people, and it doesn’t signify to her what we do.”
Cyril smiled again, but said nothing, and they went on talking and laughing as they ate until the Queen dropped her knife suddenly.
“Listen!” she cried, turning pale. “I hear horses.”
“They are coming in the opposite direction,” said Cyril, after a moment of awful suspense, “and there are only two or three. Pull yourself together, Lilian, and play your part well. There is nothing to be afraid of.”