The Puppet Crown by Harlod MacGrath (e book reader online TXT) 📖

contrived to place an alien on the throne, in face of popular sentiment? Would Austria's interests have been less safe in the advent of rightful succession? Up to now, what had Austria gained by ignoring the true house? Outwardly nothing, but below the surface? Who could answer?

For eleven years he had tried to discover the secret purpose of Austria, but, like others, he had failed; and the Austrian minister was less decipherable than the "Chinese puzzle." He was positive that none of the arch-conspirators knew; they were blinded by self-interest. And the archbishop? The Marshal rubbed his nose again, not, however, because it was cold. Did any one know what was going on behind the smiling mask which the reticent prelate showed to the world? The Marshal poked his chin above his collar, and the wrinkles fell away from his gray eyes.

The sky was clear and brilliant, and a tonic from the forests sweetened the rushing air. The lake was ruffled out of its usual calm, and rolled and galloped along the distant shores and flashed on the golden sands. Above the patches of red and brown and yellow the hills and mountains stood out in bold, decided lines.

Water fowl swept along the marshes. The doves in twos and threes fluttered down to the path, strutted about in their peculiarly awkward fashion, and doubtfully eyed the silent gray figure on the bench, as if to question his right to be there this time of the morning, their trysting hour. Presently the whole flock came down, and began cooing and waltzing at the Marshal's feet. He soon discovered the cause.

Her Royal Highness was coming through the opening in the hedgerow which separated the two confines. She carried a basket on her arm, and the bulldog followed at her heels, holding his injured leg in the air, and limping on the remaining three. At the sight of her the doves rose and circled above her head. She smiled and threw into the air handful after handful of cake and bread crumbs. In their eagerness the doves alighted on her shoulders, on the rim of the basket, and even on the broad back of the dog, who was too sober to give attention to this seeming indignity. He kept his eye on his mistress's skirts, moved when she moved, and stopped when she stopped. A gray-white cloud enveloped them.

The Marshal, with a curious sensation in his heart, observed this exquisite, living picture. He was childless; and though he was by nature undemonstrative, he was very fond of this youth. Her cheeks were scarlet, her rosy lips were parted in excitement, and her eyes glistened with pleasure. With all her twenty years, she was but ten in fancy; a woman, yet a child, unlettered in worldly wit, wise in her love of nature. Not until she had thrown away the last of the crumbs did she notice the Marshal. He rose and bowed.

"Good morning, your Highness. I am very much interested in your court. And do you hold it every morning?"

"Even when it rains," she said, smiling. "I am so glad to see you; I wanted to talk to you last night, but I could not find the opportunity. Let me share the bench with you."

And youth and age sat down together. The bulldog planted himself in the middle of the path and blinked at his sworn enemy. The Marshal had no love for him, and he was well aware of it; at present, an armistice.

The princess gazed at the rollicking waters, at her doves, thence into the inquiring gray eyes of the old soldier.

"Do you remember," she said, "how I used to climb on your knees, ever so long ago, and listen to your fairy stories?"

"Eh! And is it possible that your Highness remembers?" wrinkles of delight gathering in his cheeks. "But why `ever so long ago'? It was but yesterday. And your Highness remembers!"

"I am like my father; I never forget!" She looked toward the waters again. "I can recall only one story. It was about a princess who lost all her friends through the offices of a wicked fairy. I remember it because it was the only story you told me that had a sad ending. It was one of Andersen's. Her father and mother died, and the moment she was left alone her enemies set to work and toppled over her throne. She was cast out into the world, having no friend but a dog; but the dog always found something to eat, and protected her from giants and robbers and wolves.

"Many a time I thought of her, and cried because she was so unhappy. Well, she traveled from place to place, footsore and weary, but in her own country no one dared aid her, for fear of displeasing the wicked fairy, who at this time was all powerful. So she entered a strange land, where some peasants took her in, clothed and fed her, and gave her a staff and a flock of geese to tend. And day after day she guarded the flock, telling her sorrows to the dog, how she missed the dear ones and the home of her childhood.

"One day the reigning prince of this strange land passed by while hunting, and he saw the princess tending her geese. He made inquiries, and when he found that the beautiful goose-girl was a princess, he offered to marry her. She consented to become his wife, because she was too delicate to drudge. So she and her dog went to live at the palace. Once she was married the dog behaved strangely, whining softly, and refusing to be consoled. The prince was very kind to them both.

"Alas! It seems that when she left her own country the good fairy had lost all track of her, to find her when it was too late. The dog was a prince under a wicked spell, and when the spell fell away the princess knew that she loved him, and not her husband. She pined away and died. How many times I have thought of her, poor, lonely, fairy-tale princess!"

The old soldier blinked at the doves, and there was a furrow between his eyes. Yes; how well he remembered telling her that story. But, as she repeated it, it was clothed with a strange significance. Somehow, he found himself voiceless; he knew not how to reply.

"Monsieur," she said suddenly, "tell me, what has my poor father done that these people should hate him and desire his ruin?"

"He has been kind to them, my child," his gaze still riveted on the doves; "that is all. He has given them beautiful parks, he has made them a beautiful city. A king who thinks of his people's welfare is never understood. And ignorant and ungrateful people always hate those to whom they are under obligations. It is the way of the world."

"And-and you, Marshal?" timidly.

"And I?"

"Yes. They whisper that-that-O, Marshal, is it you who will forsake us in our need? I have heard many things of late which were not intended for my ears. My father and I, we are so alone. I have never known the comradeship of young people; I have never had that which youth longs for-a confidant of my own age. The young people I know serve me simply for their own ends, and not because they love me.

"I have never spoken thus before to-day, save to this dog. He has been my confidant; but he can not speak except with his kind old eyes, and he can not understand as I would have him. And they hate even him because they know that I love him. Poor dog!

"What my father has done has always been wrong in his own eyes, but he sinned for my sake, and God will forgive him. He gave up the home he loved for my sake. O, that I had known and understood! I was only six. We are so alone; we have no place to go, no friends save two, and they are helpless. And now I am to make a sacrifice for him to repay him for all he has done for me. I have promised my hand to one I do not love; even he forsakes me. But love is not the portion of princesses. Love to them is a fairy story. To secure my father's throne I have sacrificed my girlhood dreams. Ah! and they were so sweet and dear."

She put a hand to her throat as if something had tightened there. "Marshal, I beg of you to tell me the truth, the truth! Is my father dying? Is he? He-they will not tell me the truth. And I . . . never to hear his voice again! The truth, for pity's sake!" She caught at his hands and strove to read his eyes. "For pity's sake!"

He drew his breath deeply. He dared not look into her eyes for fear she might see the tears in his; so he bent hastily and pressed her hands to his lips. But in his heart he knew that his promise to the dead was gone with the winds, and that he would shed the last drop of blood in his withered veins for the sake of this sad, lonely child.

"Your father, my child, will never stand up straight again," he said. "As for the rest, that is in the hands of God. But I swear to you that this dried-up old heart beats only for you. I will stand or fall with you, in good times or bad." And he rubbed his nose more fiercely than ever. "Had I a daughter- But there! I have none."

"My heart is breaking," she said, with a little sob. She sank back, her head drooped to the arm of the bench, and she made no effort to stem the flood of tears. "I have no mother, and now my father is to leave me. And I love him so, I love him so! He has sacrificed all his happiness to secure mine-in vain. I laugh and smile because he asks me to, and all the while my heart is breaking, breaking."

At this juncture the doves rose hurriedly. The Marshal discovered the archbishop's valet making toward him.

"Monsieur the Marshal, Monseigneur breakfasts and requests you to join him."

"Immediately;" and the Marshal rose. He placed his hand on the dark head. "Keep up your heart, my child," he said, "and we shall see if I have grown too old for service." He squared his shoulders and followed the valet, who viewed the scene with a valet's usual nonchalance. When the Marshal reached the steps to the side entrance, he looked back. The dog had taken his place, and the girl had buried her face in his neck. A moment later the old soldier was ushered into the archbishop's presence, but neither with fear nor uneasiness in his heart.

"Ah ! Good morning, Marshal," said the prelate. "Be seated. Did you not find it chilly in the gardens?"

"Not the least. It is a fine day. I have just left her Royal Highness."

The prelate arched his eyebrows, and an interrogation shot out from under them.

"Yes," answered the observant soldier. "My heart has ever been hers; this time it is my hand and brain."

The prelate's egg spoon remained poised in mid-air; then it dropped with a clatter into the cup! But a moment gone he had held a sword in his hand; he was disarmed.

"I have promised to stand and fall with her."

"Stand and fall? Why not 'or'?" with a long,