The Road to Paris Part 33

A man rushed wildly out from the menagerie after the tiger,--he was the keeper, through whose carelessness the beast had escaped. At this sight the women began to scream and to run back to the carriages. In a moment or two, the Landgravine was left alone. She stood looking at the animal as if fascinated, or as if paralyzed with terror.

The keeper threw himself before the tiger. It felled him with a blow, drew the blood from his face with its claws, and began to tear his flesh with its teeth. The women shrieked with horror. The animal looked up, glided across the body of the man, and made swiftly towards the Landgravine.

A kind of shuddering moan went up from the whole field. Some officers dashed forward on their horses, as if to intervene between the Landgravine and the beast, though the great distance made the attempt a hopeless one.

As the tiger made its spring, a shot rang out. The beast gave a howl of pain, dropped sidewise, and lay still, at the Landgravine's feet, pierced through the brain.

The officers looked around amazed, and saw d.i.c.k Wetheral, afoot, lowering a smoking gun. He had slid from his horse at the tiger's first appearance, run to the nearest marksman, seized the loaded weapon, and fired as he had fired at many a running bear in Pennsylvania.

"Who fired?" cried the Landgrave, too deeply moved to say more,--for a prince does not wish his wife to die a violent death in his presence and the court's, however estranged he may be from her.

"I took the liberty, your highness," said d.i.c.k, handing back the gun to the guardsman, and approaching the Landgrave.

"You have saved the Landgravine's life," said his highness. "I lack words in which to express my grat.i.tude. You shall hear from me."

And the Landgrave rode quickly over to the Landgravine, who was being supported to her carriage.

"You don't need a Good Samaritan any longer. Your fortune is made!" said Lord George, as d.i.c.k remounted.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE FAVOR OF A PRINCE.

d.i.c.k now seemed to stride towards felicity with seven-league boots. His famous long shot, decidedly the most remarkable given at that afternoon's exhibition of shooting, speedily became famous. His place of abode being learned through Lord George, he was invited to court to receive the thanks of the Landgravine in person, with a present of a jewelled watch and a diamond ring. Returning from the palace to his hotel opposite the glover's, he found awaiting him an equerry with a superb black horse, a gift from the Landgrave. He had no sooner seen this animal stabled, and gone to his room, than he was visited by Count Mesmer, accompanied by a lackey bearing a gold-hilted dress sword, another token of his highness's grat.i.tude. Mesmer then sounded him as to his future, in such a manner as to raise suspicion of Lord George's having dropped a hint in a proper quarter. The next day d.i.c.k received an appointment to a post in the Academy of Arts, which favor was to be considered a high one, for the Landgrave was a great patron of the arts and took pride in his museum.

Lord George now departed from Ca.s.sel, but d.i.c.k did not suffer loneliness. His intimacy with the St. Valiers increased. He saw Gerard every day, and Catherine whenever she came to visit her brother. He made friends among officers and civilians, and he had the constant society of Rembrandts, Van Dycks, Raphaels, t.i.tians, and other creations of Dutch and Italian masters. His duties brought him into frequent presence of the Landgrave, who often visited the picture gallery.

His highness soon showed a p.r.o.nounced liking for d.i.c.k, conversing with him whenever occasion offered, and regarding his freedom of speech and opinion with the amused indulgence that one has for a clever child.

People of the court began to see in d.i.c.k a possible favorite, and flattered him in his presence, though hating him in their hearts as a successful interloper. It annoyed d.i.c.k to know that he was liked by a prince whom every American should hold in enmity; and this annoyance became disgust when his highness, from discussing the pictures of women, would often fall to discoursing upon women themselves. But d.i.c.k concealed his feelings, listening in silence to the sovereign's coa.r.s.e or jocose remarks upon the s.e.x for which that sovereign's weakness was notorious.

Now that his future seemed a.s.sured, d.i.c.k set about carrying matters forward with Catherine. The first sight of her face, so n.o.ble and yet so girlish, so reserved and yet so sincere, so open and yet--from its dark eyes and hair--so mysterious, had reawakened in him a pa.s.sionate adoration beside which the bygone manifestations of his heart towards Amabel, Collette, and "Amaryllis" were but feeble flutterings. To him all other women became insipid when Catherine reappeared on the scene.

Her outward gravity betokened a nature of vast range and unfathomable depth, a book that could not be read through in a day, a book with new beauties and dazzling surprises on every page. He felt that she was the only thing in the universe worth having, and he pressed his suit accordingly. Gerard proved very amiable by finding numerous reasons for sudden absence when Catherine called. She had little coquetry, though much natural reserve; yet, having been secretly disposed in his favor from the first (heaven knows by what undetectable something in his face or manner), she dropped her reserve at last before his oft-repeated "I love you," and, dropping her glance at the same moment, yielded her hand to his. It is only in plays and novels that confessions of love are matters of impa.s.sioned declamation or witty dialogue.

d.i.c.k told the St. Valiers of his parentage and life, omitting only the episodes of Amabel, Collette, and "Amaryllis." An understanding was reached that Catherine should become his wife at some future time yet to be determined. As d.i.c.k was really in love, and so would have turned Mohammedan to possess her, he readily agreed to adopt her religion, as far as a Voltairean could adopt any,--that is to say, in outer appearance only. It was urged by both Catherine and Gerard that the engagement should be kept secret, and d.i.c.k, being in mood to grant any conditions without question, readily consented. This interview, like all others between d.i.c.k and Catherine since the night of the masquerade, occurred in the back parlor of the glover's house. As usual, Catherine insisted upon returning alone to the palace, which she always entered by a private door.

"Why," said d.i.c.k, "may not a lady-in-waiting be seen with her affianced husband and her brother, in the streets? Here are two people soon to be married to each other, yet I'll wager n.o.body in Ca.s.sel, except Gerard, knows they are even acquainted with each other."

"We must have patience," she said, with a smile in which there seemed to be something of sadness. Then, having gravely given him her hand to kiss, she hastened from the room.

d.i.c.k and Gerard celebrated the day with a bottle of wine, after which Gerard went on duty and d.i.c.k to the Academy of Arts, which was a few steps south of the palace. While there he was sent for by the Landgrave, who greeted him with a patronizing and approving smile, and the words:

"I wish you to call immediately on the treasurer and on the chief equerry, who have orders regarding your conveyance to Dusseldorf. I have a commission for you to execute at the picture gallery there."

Instead of the look of grat.i.tude and pleasure that the Landgrave had expected to see on d.i.c.k's face, there was one of blank dejection. To leave Ca.s.sel, though for only a week, was not in d.i.c.k's plan of happiness at this time. But the Landgrave's order had to be obeyed, and d.i.c.k mustered up a gratified expression before it was too late.

The next morning he started on his journey, leaving with Gerard a note for Catherine. The commission was indeed one to be envied; as it was out of all proportion to d.i.c.k's infinitesimal knowledge of art, it was the greater evidence of the Landgrave's favor. So d.i.c.k cheered himself up; made the acquaintance of the famous collection of that other elderly connoisseur in art and women, Charles Theodore of Bavaria; attended to his business, surrounded himself with the vision of Catherine, and suffused his heart and mind with antic.i.p.ations of his next meeting with her.

It was growing dark on a November evening, when d.i.c.k reentered Ca.s.sel.

It was past the hour when he might have met Catherine at the glover's house, but he was so hungry for the sight of her, that he decided to attend the usual evening a.s.sembly at the palace, on the bare possibility of her being present. He knew that his favor with the Landgrave would secure him admission on his merely sending in his name. He therefore drove at once to his inn, dressed and put on the sword given him by the Landgrave, which custom permitted him to wear at court, and hastened to the palace. It was a little after seven o'clock, and the reception-rooms were full.

To d.i.c.k's surprise, one of the first persons he saw was Gerard de St.

Valier, in the uniform of a body-guard.

"Why," cried d.i.c.k, rus.h.i.+ng up to him, and pressing his hand, "you've been transferred, I see! 'Tis the same as a promotion. We are both in good luck."

"Yes," said Gerard, in a constrained manner. He then cast a swift look around, bowed formally, and hastened to another room, making a pretext of being on duty.

d.i.c.k gazed after him in amazement. What meant this coldness, this evidence of being ill at ease? Such a reception from Gerard cut d.i.c.k to the heart, made a tear start in his eye, and gave him an undefined foreboding.

While he stood thus, there was near him a movement to either side, and a general bowing. He became aware of the Landgrave's approach, just in time to step back from his highness's way. But the Landgrave turned and greeted him with a kindly smile.

"Back from Dusseldorf so soon?" said Frederick II., in his rich and deep, but heavy and guttural, voice.

"The feet move swiftly when they return to where the heart is," said d.i.c.k.

The Landgrave, taking this as an expression of attachment to the sovereign presence, smiled paternally; then said:

"I shall send to hear your report to-morrow. The King of Bavaria has fine pictures. He used to be as famous for the fine women he kept, also."

"So I have heard, your highness," replied d.i.c.k, with a side glance towards the Landgravine at the farther end of the room, to see if Catherine might be among her highness's ladies.

The Landgrave, again misinterpreting, followed d.i.c.k's glance. "Ah," said he, in a low tone, audible to none of those who stood back from him and d.i.c.k at respectful distance, "you are thinking that the court of Ca.s.sel also is not without its fair ones. And you are right, my clear-eyed Englishman. Like the rest of your race, you will doubtless some day write your recollections of the court of Ca.s.sel. Like the rest, you will give a page to the mistresses of the sovereign. Well, tell me if you think any of the ladies that even Louis XIV. delighted to honor, was fit to buckle the shoes of her whom you see standing beneath the picture of Diana yonder."

"Whom do you mean, your highness?"

The Landgrave was too absorbed in his subject to heed the note of wild alarm in d.i.c.k's swift question.

"The lady with the black hair and eyes," said the Landgrave, gloating across the distance.

d.i.c.k turned cold. "Why," said he, in what faint voice he could command, "I thought your highness's favorite was Mademoiselle F----!"

"King David himself changed his mistress now and then," said the Landgrave.

Mad with grief and humiliation, d.i.c.k sprang forward to Catherine de St.

Valier--for she it was whom the Landgrave had pointed out--and said:

"Mademoiselle, is it true,--what I am told?"

She gave a start at first seeing him, then stood for a moment in a kind of sudden dismay. This gave way to an expression of surprise, as if he who addressed her were a stranger; and then she turned to hasten from him.

"Ah!" he cried bitterly, in a voice that drew the attention of the whole a.s.sembly; for, as consternation had stopped his heart, rage now set it beating fiercely. "It is true, then! Faithless!"

She turned and faced him, with a countenance as pale as death. At that instant Gerard confronted d.i.c.k from out of the throng, with cheeks as colorless as Catherine's, and cried out:

"Monsieur, it is of my sister that you speak!"