Part 18 (2/2)

I am affected by neither. Life is so exceedingly trivial an affair, and is so soon over, that I have never been able to understand why people should ever trouble themselves about anything in it.”

”You may not always be lacking in this comprehension, Madam,” said Sir Roger, with a certain harshness in his tone, yet with the deepest respect in his manner; ”I take it that life and the world are but a preparation for something greater, and that we shall be forced to learn our lessons in this preparatory school before we leave it, whether we like it or no!”

The slight smile still lingered on her beautiful mouth,--she pulled a spray of jasmine down from the trailing cl.u.s.ters around her, and set it carelessly among the folds of her lace. Sir Roger watched her with moody eyes. Could he have followed his own inclination, he would have s.n.a.t.c.hed the flower from her dress and kissed it, in a kind of fierce defiance before her very eyes. But what would be the result of such an act?

Merely a little contemptuous lifting of the delicate brows--a slight frown on the fair forehead, and a calm gesture of dismissal. No more--no more than this; for just as she could not be moved to love, neither could she be moved to anger. The words of an old song rang in his ears:--

She laughs at the thought of love-- Pain she scorns, and sorrow she sets aside-- My heart she values less than her broidered glove, She would smile if I died!

”You are a man, Sir Roger de Launay,” she said after a pause, ”And man-like, you propound any theory which at the moment happens to fit your own particular humour. I am, however, entirely of your opinion that this life is only a term of preparation, and with this conviction I desire to have as little to do with its vile and ugly side as I can. It is possible to accept with grat.i.tude the beautiful things of Nature, and reject the rest, is it not?”

”As you ask me the question point-blank, Madam, I say it is possible,--it can be done,--and you do it. But it is wrong!”

She raised her languid eyelids, showing no offence.

”Wrong?”

”Wrong, Madam!” repeated Sir Roger bluntly; ”It is wrong to shut from your sight, from your heart, from your soul the ugly side of Nature;--to shut your ears to the wants--the pains--the tortures--the screams--the tears, and groans of humanity! Oh, Madam, the ugly side has a strange beauty of its own that you dream not of! G.o.d makes ugliness as he makes beauty; G.o.d created the volcano belching forth fire and molten lava, as He created the simple stream bordered with meadow flowers! Why should you reject the ugly, the fierce, the rebellious side of things? Rather take it into your gracious thoughts and prayers, Madam, and help to make it beautiful!”

He spoke with a force which surprised himself--he was carried away by a pa.s.sion that seemed almost outside his own ident.i.ty. She looked at him curiously.

”Does the King teach you to speak thus to me?” she asked.

De Launay started,--the hot colour mounting to his cheeks and brow.

”Madam!”

”Nay, no excuse! I understand! It is your own thought; but a thought which is no doubt suddenly inspired by the King's actions,” she went on tranquilly; ”You are in his confidence. He is adopting new measures of domestic policy, in which, perchance, I may or may not be included--as it suits my pleasure! Who knows!” Again the little musing smile crossed her countenance. ”It is of the King I wish to speak to you.”

She glanced around her, and saw that her lady-in-waiting, Teresa de Launay, had discreetly wandered by herself to the edge of the water-lily pool, and was bending over it, a graceful, pensive figure in the near distance, within call, but certainly not within hearing.

”You are in his confidence,” she repeated, drawing a step nearer to him, ”and--so am I! You will not disclose his movements--nor shall I! But you are his close attendant and friend,--I am merely--his wife! I make you responsible for his safety!”

”Madam, I pray you pardon me!” exclaimed De Launay; ”His Majesty has a will of his own,--and his sacred life is not in my hands. I will defend him to the utmost limit of human possibility,--but if he voluntarily runs into danger, and disregards all warning, I, as his poor servant, am not to blame!”

Her eyes, brilliant and full of a compelling magnetism, dwelt upon him steadfastly.

”I repeat my command,” she said deliberately, ”I make you responsible!

You are a strong man and a brave one. If the King is rash, it is the duty of his servants to defend him from the consequences of his rashness; particularly if that rashness leads him into danger for a n.o.ble purpose. Should any mischance befall him, let me never see your face again! Die yourself, rather than let your King die!”

As she spoke these words she motioned him away with a grand gesture of dismissal, and he retired back from her presence in a kind of stunned amazement. Never before in all the days of her social sway as Crown-Princess, had she ever condescended to speak to him on any matter of confidence,--never during her three years of sovereignty as Queen-Consort had she apparently taken note, or cared to know any of the affairs connected with the King, her husband. The mere fact that now her interest was roused, moved De Launay to speechless wonderment. He hardly dared raise his eyes to look at her, as she turned from him and went slowly, with her usual noiseless, floating grace of movement, towards the water-lily pool, there to rejoin her attendant, Teresa de Launay, who at the same time advanced to meet her Royal mistress. A moment more, and Queen and lady of honour had disappeared together, and De Launay was left alone. A little bird, swinging on a branch above his head, piped a few tender notes to the green leaves and the sunlit sky, but beyond this, and the measured plash of the fountain, no sound disturbed the stillness of the garden.

”Upon my word, Roger de Launay,” he said bitterly to himself, ”you are an a.s.s sufficiently weighted with burdens! The love of a Queen, and the life of a King are enough for one man's mind to carry with any degree of safety! If it were not for the King, I think I should leave this country and seek some other service--but I owe him much,--if only by reason of my own heart's folly!”

Impatient with himself, he strode away, straight across the lawn and back to the palace. Here he noticed just the slightest atmosphere of uneasiness among some of the retainers of the Royal household,--a vague impression of flurry and confusion. Through various pa.s.sages and corridors, attendants and pages were either running about with extra haste, or else strolling to and fro with extra slowness. As he turned into one of the ante-chambers, he suddenly confronted a tall, military-looking personage in plain civilian attire, whom he at once recognized as the Chief of the Police.

”Ah, Bernhoff!” he said lightly, ”any storms brewing?”

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