“That is quite impossible, Count; and it is also impossible that you should represent to Prince Mirkovics the condition of her Majesty’s wardrobe. It is I who must go to the castle.”
“Am I to have the honour of escorting you, Fräulein?”
“Would you leave her Majesty without attendance, Count?” irritably. “I will not approach Prince Mirkovics, but ask at once for Princess Anna. She is spending the winter at home, and to whom has the Queen a better right to look for assistance than to her own maid of honour? She shall come back with me, bringing a suitable dress for her Majesty, and then you can go to the castle and make yourself known to the Prince, who will of course hasten to welcome their Majesties; but by that time the Queen will be prepared to receive him, and there will be two ladies in attendance.”
This suggestion, which promised to obviate the great clothes difficulty, although rather to the eye than in reality, was agreed to by the Queen; and as soon as Fräulein von Staubach had seen her mistress established on one of the cane lounges of the shooting-box for a rest, she departed for the castle under the guidance of the gamekeeper. Cyril, who had accepted the loan of the good man’s best suit, took the opportunity of removing the false beard and wig which he had worn during his wanderings, and of washing off the paint and mud which had contributed to disguise him. He further inveigled the little King into allowing his face and hands to be washed, and his general appearance smartened up by the woman of the house, although the child had been so constantly carried that his clothes had suffered very little in comparison with those of the rest of the party. The King only submitted to the brushing and cleansing process in consideration of a bribe—the promise that he should go with his hostess and see her milk the goats; and as soon as he was set at liberty he gave her no peace until she took up her pails and led the way out of the house. Cyril accompanied them, fearing lest his sovereign, in the ardour of his study of natural history, should make too close an acquaintance with the goats’ horns; but almost before the milking had begun, the little King uttered an angry exclamation.
“Mamma is calling me!” he said, and Cyril, looking towards the house, saw the Queen standing on the verandah, looking anxiously after her son, who wailed sadly, “They never let me do anything nice, and the goats are so pretty, and I’m not going too near, Herr Graf. Please do go and tell mamma that I want to stay here.”
“I will look after the little gentleman, honourable sir, and see that he doesn’t come to any harm,” said the woman; and Cyril accepted the assurance, and returned to the Queen, who remarked doubtfully on hearing it that she supposed Michael might as well stay where he was for the present, but that it would be very difficult to get him into proper ways again when they were back at Bellaviste.
“I fear that you will be obliged to spend some days at the castle as the guest of Prince Mirkovics, madame, before we can hope to return to Bellaviste,” said Cyril. “Communication is difficult in these mountains, and there will be plenty of time to drill his Majesty into courtly ways once more.”
“Why will you talk to me like this, even when we are alone?” asked the Queen reproachfully. “Please do not stand on the steps—come up here. I want to talk to you. I know what you are thinking,” she went on, as Cyril mounted the steps and stood beside her. “You think that I might wish to withdraw what I said to you just now, because things are different. They are different, I know; we thought then that we had come to the end of our lives, and instead we are beginning a new life, but I—my feelings—have not changed.”
“I am overwhelmed by your graciousness, madame,” began Cyril, not daring to look at her lowered eyes and blushing face; but she interrupted him impetuously, her voice ringing with impatience—
“Madame again! and after what has passed between us! Why won’t you understand that I am Ernestine to you? I know what it is; you don’t trust me—Cyril.”