CHAPTER XVI.
THIS WORKING-DAY WORLD.
The rocks on this side of the waterfall were not bare, but covered, wherever a crevice or a hollow afforded a resting-place for the smallest amount of soil, with close-growing bushes, and these served to conceal the movements of the little party from their foes on the opposite bank. Glancing across before turning his back finally on the torrent, Cyril saw the mob standing in eager expectation and watching the house, the roof of which was now blazing from end to end. It was evident that they thought their victims must at last show themselves and entreat the mercy which it was now too late to grant, even had there been any inclination to do so; and Cyril felt grateful for the volumes of smoke which rolled between them, and effectually prevented the mob from perceiving that any one was passing through the bushes beyond the waterfall. Arrived at the summit of the cliff, and turning away from the river, the fugitives saw, at no great distance in front of them, a small house somewhat fancifully built of wood, and occupying a position which commanded an extensive view. As it was not certain how much farther they had still to walk before reaching Prince Mirkovics’s castle, Cyril proposed that he should go on and make inquiries at the house, while the rest waited for him in the shelter of a thicket, so as not to attract the notice of any passer-by. He was not long in returning.
“Our troubles are over now, I hope,” he said. “The house is a shooting-box belonging to Prince Mirkovics, and occupied by one of his gamekeepers. The woman in charge is a pleasant person, and quite willing to give us hospitality for a few hours. I told her that we were acquainted with the Prince; but I did not think it advisable to say who we really were. You agree with me, madame?”
The Queen, who had scarcely spoken since crossing the river, and had been walking on as if in a dream, with the light in her eyes which Cyril had noticed when they left the burning house, started suddenly when he addressed her, as though she had been struck, and turned a piteous gaze on him.
“I leave everything to you—Count,” she said falteringly; and Fräulein von Staubach gave Cyril a glance full of suspicion.
“Then, madame, as soon as I have seen you settled in the gamekeeper’s house, I will go on to the castle, and find out whether Prince Mirkovics possesses any kind of vehicle which he could send to convey you and his Majesty. You will no doubt wish to return to civilised life as soon as possible?”
“Civilised life!” cried Fräulein von Staubach, as the Queen remained silent; “do we look fitted for civilised life, Count? It is absolutely out of the question that her Majesty should be seen in such a guise.”
“I had forgotten that,” said the Queen, blushing hotly, as she realised the strangeness of her appearance, in her torn and soiled Thracian garments, now drenched almost to the waist, and with her bandaged feet thrust into the worn-out slippers of the innkeeper’s compassionate maid-servant. “What can we do?” she asked helplessly, looking at her brown hands.
“If your Majesty remembers the circumstances under which Prince Mirkovics left the Court,” suggested Cyril hesitatingly, “you will see that there would be some awkwardness in appearing before him in our present state of—of destitution.”
The Queen’s face flushed again. On the occasion of some Court festivity at the Palace, Prince Mirkovics had disregarded her unwritten law by appearing in the Thracian national costume instead of Western evening dress, and both she and her mother had received him with marked coldness. The proud old chieftain had withdrawn immediately from Bellaviste, and returned to his native hills; and it was only at the entreaty of King Otto Georg and M. Drakovics that he had consented to allow his daughter to remain a member of the royal household. They knew that if he severed all connection with the reigning house, his many friends and relations would do the same, thus depriving the throne of its most loyal supporters. And now the Queen, herself in rags, must appeal to the charity of Prince Mirkovics to furnish her with shelter and clothes—truly a humiliating position. She looked appealingly at Fräulein von Staubach, who, after a struggle with herself, answered Cyril’s remark—