Chapter XI

Rudi, I have explained, was not subtle. He was a soldier, a lover and a gentleman, but that was all. His plan was simplicity itself; with the revolution under way, he and his group would abduct the Crown Prince into Switzerland, hide him there, and later Rudi would take him to America.

And the plan served its immediate purpose for under its stimulus the Queen began to recover. That, and the full knowledge of Rudi’s love and loyalty.

“He hardly ever left the nursing home,” Clotilde said. “And he brought her the most amusing things he could find. One was a set of lead soldiers. He fought all sorts of battles on the counterpane. He was always such a boy.”

Ah, and such a soldier, too! One wonders a little about Rudi in those years, when he had neither Clotilde’s refuge of tears nor the Queen’s of flight. His profession gone and Rudi quietly accepting it, but keeping his shoulders back and his mind untarnished nevertheless, and playing lead soldiers to ease the double pain in his heart.

Things were a little easier after the Queen went back. Rudi had his revolutionary plans at night after his day’s work was over, and the Queen had her hope.

But when occasionally she forgot and put her hand on his arm over some map or plan, he would make an excuse and move away. There was a wall between them neither of them dared to break ever so little. It was like a dam in which the smallest leak might precipitate a catastrophe.

Just what would have happened had the revolution not hung fire nobody can say. But it was held off for one reason or another for a long time, and when it finally came—

“It was too late,” Clotilde said.

“Toto was a man.”

“Partly that.” She had finished the stocking and she laid it on her knee and smoothed it with her delicate hand. “It is like this: When a young man, raised to a throne, is turned out into the world, he meets with many temptations. Against them he has only one thing.”

“And that?”

“The pride of birth,” she said slowly. “The traditions that lie behind a long line of kings. It is a sort of _noblesse oblige_.” She smiled faintly. “When he came here, into exile, how could they tell him?”

They had never thought of that.

All those years of planning and waiting, with hope growing a little fainter as time went on and the boy grew up. But still the thought that some day he would come, and understand, and perhaps be eager for the love they offered him, since he had had no love at all before. And now this!

Ironical too that the thing which kept them from him was his only vital heritage from the King!

He never knew of Rudi’s part in the revolution, but it is doubtful if he would have held it against him. He had entered the university and he seemed to have no regrets at all for his lost throne.

Clotilde mentioned the first time Rudi brought him to them.

The Queen had been very white, very composed, making her little bow to him. And he had stood tall and straight and so like Rudi, filling the room with his vital youth and smiling at these three people who had sacrificed their lives to him.

“It is good of you to allow me to come, madame,” he said to the Queen. “I have known little enough of homes, but this is surely one.”

He and Rudi were immensely chummy from the start. They took long walks together, Rudi not a step behind for all his years. But there were times when Rudi disappeared, and Clotilde, and left the Queen to have her boy for an hour or so alone.

He began to bring her his little troubles, boy-fashion.

“My father was never fond of me,” he said to her once. “And I never knew my mother. You don’t mind if I make one of you, do you?”

How young they all were together! For remember, she was still in her thirties, and Rudi a scant forty. And how she bloomed under happiness, discarded the white wool garments for the things of this world, indeed, Toto declared could have passed as his sweetheart; _was_ his sweetheart; and dared Rudi to contest his claim!

All this time the King was playing in Paris, driving in the Bois every afternoon with a gardenia in his buttonhole and smirking at pretty women. The Russian Olga had followed him there and was sharing such of his leisure and the crown jewels as she could get hold of, neither of which was a great deal.

And then suddenly came the blow to them of a movement to replace Toto on the throne. Things were going badly with the new republic. That very night while we talked the matter was in all their minds.

“What has he decided?” I asked Clotilde.

“Nothing yet. But I think he will go back.”

She sighed. The interlude would soon be over. Once again they would live their drab lives; no Toto to come leaping up the stairs, to kiss the Queen’s hand and impudently chaff Rudi; no loud laughter; no little preparations for supper, being sure to have plenty for a hungry boy.

Clotilde’s mind must have followed mine, for she put down her knitting and rose.

“It must be time to put on the kettle,” she said, and disappeared into the shining little tiled kitchen beyond, where copper pans hung on the wall and a platter of cold sliced meats stood ready.

* * * * *

An unfinished story, you see, up to that moment, with Clotilde bustling in the kitchen and Rudi and Toto bent over the chess game. And with Rudi saying:

“You perceive, sire, that your King is in danger.”

And Toto: “Danger! Egad, sir, he is lost.”

And even then the _portier_ downstairs, in his night-shirt and moustache bandage, admitting the conclusion to it and calling Toto out into the passage.

The Queen’s eyes followed him to the door and remained there; Rudi’s eyes were on her.

When Toto came back there was an odd change in his face. He closed the door and stood inside, holding to the knob.

“My father,” he said in a low voice. “He is—” He straightened himself. “The King is dead.”

No one spoke, and again the Queen watched Toto and Rudi watched the Queen. She rose slowly.

“You are going back?”

“Yes.”

He picked up his cap and turned toward the door. Then, remembering their kindness to him, he turned again.

“You have been very good to me,” he said, stumblingly. “I shall never forget it . . . I—I love you both.”

She knew it was the end, but her voice was quite steady.

“May God be with you, Majesty, now and forever,” she said.

Rudi and he went out together, and as I closed the door I saw that the young King had his arm around Rudi’s shoulders.

She went into her bedroom and after a time Clotilde called me in.

“I am frightened,” she whispered. “She has not spoken. She does not even seem to know I am in the room.”

The Queen lay on her high narrow bed, well raised with pillows. She had undressed, and the little distortion where the Archduke had twisted her wrist showed very plainly. She had her eyes closed and held the amethyst cross in her fingers.

Clotilde bent over her.

“Are you asleep?” she asked.

“I am praying,” said the Queen.

It was late when Rudi came back, and she had not moved or opened her eyes. She heard his step, however, and called to him.

“Rudi!”

“I am here,” he said, from the corridor.

“Will you come in?” And when he had done so, awkwardly self-conscious inside that forbidden threshold: “Has he gone?”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes and was silent. When she looked up at him again it was to say pitifully:

“All I had! And he is gone.”

“You have me,” said Rudi sturdily. And without more ado he took her quite simply into his arms and held her there.

We left them alone together, Clotilde and I, and it was I who made Clotilde the tea that night and took it to her as she sat collapsed in the front room. Neither Rudi nor the Queen had thought of her at all.

She said very little.

“I loved him so very much,” she said once, and it was a moment before I knew she was referring to Toto. And again: “I shall go away now. They will be happier alone. Together,” she corrected herself, and her face seemed somehow older.

But it was characteristic of her that before I left she was planning what the Queen should wear for her marriage. Her mind had gone back to the old Worth days.

“But Worth is not so popular now, I fancy,” she said. And sighed. “And dresses are so simple. There are no _important_ gowns any more.”

There was the sound of low talking from the Queen’s bedroom when I left that night, and Clotilde was deep in old boxes. The velvets and brocades of yesterday.

They were together, but she was alone.

* * * * *

I have never seen Rudi and the Queen since that night, but only last year I was in the Musée of Saint Lô, looking for the Gombaut and Macée tapestries, which had been sold on the old Archduke’s death. After I had found them I noticed a little elderly gentlewoman standing near and I spoke to her.

“They are quaint, are they not?”

Then I recognised her. It was Clotilde, but aged beyond belief, a dried up little spinster now. She put out a trembling hand.

“Ah, my dear!” she said, and glanced from me to the tapestries. “I see you remember.”

“How are they?”

“Very well, and very happy, I think. I seldom see them now.”

“And Toto?”

“But that you know. He has made a good King. He has lived up to the traditions of—his line.” And she smiled ever so faintly.

We went back to the _pension_ where she was living and she gave me a cup of tea. There was the same picture of Rudi on her table, and one of the Queen, but—perhaps it was by accident—the little dish of pansies was in front of Rudi.

She never opened up to me as completely as she had before. She had developed little reserves and small silences, when she sat with her hands folded in her lap. You see, she had no stockings to knit for Rudi any more. But she told me about the wedding, which had been very simple.

“She would only wear a travelling suit,” she said. And sighed. “But perhaps that was better. You see, they were going directly to Toto’s coronation.”

“They went to that?” I asked, astounded.

“Not precisely _to_ it,” she corrected herself. “But they were in the square when he came out onto the balcony later. The same balcony—” she checked herself.

“You did not go?”

“No,” she said. And then drawing herself more erect, with two spots of colour in her cheeks: “Ah, my dear, why should I lie to you? I did go, but they never knew it.”

And a moment later:

“He looked very wonderful, and very happy. What is, is best.”

II
THE ALTAR ON THE HILL: The Secretary