Rupert of Hentzau: From The Memoirs of Fritz Von Tarlenheim<br />Sequel to The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope (most inspirational books .txt) 📖

She rose, saying: “Come, let us go to the palace.”

As she rose, Rischenheim made a quick impulsive step towards her.

“Well, my lord,” said she, turning towards him, “will you also go with me?”

“Lieutenant von Bernenstein will take care—” I began. But I stopped. The slightest gesture of her hand silenced me.

“Will you go with me?” she asked Rischenheim again.

“Madam,” he stammered, “Madam—”

She waited. I waited also, although I had no great patience with him. Suddenly he fell on his knee, but he did not venture to take her hand. Of her own accord she came and stretched it out to him, saying sadly: “Ah, that by forgiving I could win forgiveness!”

Rischenheim caught at her hand and kissed it.

“It was not I,” I heard him mutter. “Rupert set me on, and I couldn’t stand out against him.”

“Will you go with me to the palace?” she asked, drawing her hand away, but smiling.

“The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim,” I made bold to observe, “knows some things that most people do not know, madam.” She turned on me with dignity, almost with displeasure.

“The Count of Luzau-Rischenheim may be trusted to be silent,” she said. “We ask him to do nothing against his cousin. We ask only his silence.”

“Ay,” said I, braving her anger, “but what security shall we have?”

“His word of honor, my lord.” I knew that a rebuke to my presumption lay in her calling me “my lord,” for, save on formal occasions, she always used to call me Fritz.

“His word of honor!” I grumbled. “In truth, madam—”

“He’s right,” said Rischenheim; “he’s right.”

“No, he’s wrong,” said the queen, smiling. “The count will keep his word, given to me.”

Rischenheim looked at her and seemed about to address her, but then he turned to me, and said in a low tone:

“By Heaven, I will, Tarlenheim. I’ll serve her in everything—”

“My lord,” said she most graciously, and yet very sadly, “you lighten the burden on me no less by your help than because I no longer feel your honor stained through me. Come, we will go to the palace.” And she went to him, saying, “We will go together.”

There was nothing for it but to trust him. I knew that I could not turn her.

“Then I’ll see if the carriage is ready,” said I.

“Yes, do, Fritz,” said the queen. But as I passed she stopped me for a moment, saying in a whisper, “Show that you trust him.”

I went and held out my hand to him. He took and pressed it.

“On my honor,” he said.

Then I went out and found Bernenstein sitting on a bench in the hall. The lieutenant was a diligent and watchful young man; he appeared to be examining his revolver with sedulous care.

“You can put that away,” said I rather peevishly—I had not fancied shaking hands with Rischenheim. “He’s not a prisoner any longer. He’s one of us now.”

“The deuce he is!” cried Bernenstein, springing to his feet.

I told him briefly what had happened, and how the queen had won Rupert’s instrument to be her servant.

“I suppose he’ll stick to it,” I ended; and I thought he would, though I was not eager for his help.

A light gleamed in Bernenstein’s eyes, and I felt a tremble in the hand that he laid on my shoulder.

“Then there’s only Bauer now,” he whispered. “If Rischenheim’s with us, only Bauer!”

I knew very well what he meant. With Rischenheim silent, Bauer was the only man, save Rupert himself, who knew the truth, the only man who threatened that great scheme which more and more filled our thoughts and grew upon us with an increasing force of attraction as every obstacle to it seemed to be cleared out of the way. But I would not look at Bernenstein, fearing to acknowledge even with my eyes how my mind jumped with his. He was bolder, or less scrupulous—which you will.

“Yes, if we can shut Bauer’s mouth.” he went on.

“The queen’s waiting for the carriage,” I interrupted snappishly.

“Ah, yes, of course, the carriage,” and he twisted me round till I was forced to look him in the face. Then he smiled, and even laughed a little.

“Only Bauer now!” said he.

“And Rupert,” I remarked sourly.

“Oh, Rupert’s dead bones by now,” he chuckled, and with that he went out of the hall door and announced the queen’s approach to her servants. It must be said for young Bernenstein that he was a cheerful fellow-conspirator. His equanimity almost matched Rudolf’s own; I could not rival it myself.

I drove to the palace with the queen and my wife, the other two following in a second carriage. I do not know what they said to one another on the way, but Bernenstein was civil enough to his companion when I rejoined them. With us my wife was the principal speaker: she filled up, from what Rudolf had told her, the gaps in our knowledge of how he had spent his night in Strelsau, and by the time we arrived we were fully informed in every detail. The queen said little. The impulse which had dictated her appeal to Rischenheim and carried her through it seemed to have died away; she had become again subject to fears and apprehension. I saw her uneasiness when she suddenly put out her hand and touched mine, whispering:

“He must be at the house by now.”

Our way did not lie by the house, and we came to the palace without any news of our absent chief (so I call him—as such we all, from the queen herself, then regarded him). She did not speak of him again; but her eyes seemed to follow me about as though she were silently asking some service of me; what it was I could not understand. Bernenstein had disappeared, and the repentant count with him: knowing they were together, I was in no uneasiness; Bernenstein would see that his companion contrived no treachery. But I was puzzled by the queen’s tacit appeal. And I was myself on fire for news from the Konigstrasse. It was now two hours since Rudolf Rassendyll had left us, and no word had come of him or from him. At last I could bear it no longer. The queen was sitting with her hand in my wife’s; I had been seated on the other side of the room, for I thought that they might wish to talk to one another; yet I had not seen them exchange a word. I rose abruptly and crossed the room to where they were.