“What is the matter with her Majesty?” asked Fräulein von Staubach anxiously of Cyril, as they stood waiting before the gate.
“I think she has fainted. I have had almost to carry her the last part of the way.”
“Lieber Himmel! she will die if we cannot restore her quickly. Could you not break the gate open, Count?”
Placing the Queen in a sheltered corner, Cyril examined the gate. The lock was new, but the wood was somewhat worm-eaten. Retreating a step or two, he burst it open with a kick, delivered with a strength that surprised himself, and he and Fräulein von Staubach together dragged the Queen inside, just as Nathan ran down the path with several keys jingling in his hand.
“You have got in? Ah, but he will be angry, the swine of an innkeeper! He says he won’t have wandering peasants taking shelter in his house; but if you like to spend the night in the porter’s lodge, which is empty, he does not mind. Here’s the key.”
“But can we get fire and food?” cried Cyril. “The brute! he shan’t escape like this. I will get what we want, if I have to take it.”
The youth paused, much impressed, as he fitted one of the keys into the doorway of the little house, and looked at Cyril. “There is wood in the shed,” he replied. “The innkeeper’s servant whispered it to me, when her master’s back was turned, and said that she would be down here herself in a moment. She was only waiting to bring some soup with her.”
“Excellent woman!” said Cyril, forcing the door open with his knee. Fireless as it was, the house gave a sensation of sudden warmth, in its shelter from the wind and contrast with the cold outside, and he hastened to bring in the Queen and lay her on the rough plank settle which occupied three sides of the room. Sending Nathan to forage for wood, he helped Fräulein von Staubach to disencumber herself of the shawl which she had wrapped round herself and the little King, and laid the child on the settle, only half awake, and protesting fretfully against such treatment. While they were unfastening the rugs, which Fräulein von Staubach proceeded to heap upon the Queen, Nathan returned with the wood, and Cyril swept from the hearth the snow which had drifted in through the hole which served as a chimney, and arranged a goodly pile. The youth had had the forethought to bring some shavings to serve as kindling, much to Cyril’s relief, for the remains of a box of wax vestas in his pocket were all the matches the party possessed. While he was engaged in the task of lighting the fire by their means, a sudden question from Fräulein von Staubach startled him.
“Count, is eau de Cologne poisonous?”
“Not that I know of,” he answered, without looking round. “Have you taken some?”