Part 7 (1/2)
”And as for my knowledge of Rhaetian, I've always been interested in the study of languages. Languages are fascinating to conquer; and then, the literature of your country is so splendid, one must be able to read it at first hand. Now, you'll have to say 'yes' to the ring, won't you, and keep it for your Emperor's sake, if not for mine?”
”May I not keep it for yours as well?”
”Yes, if you please. And--about the milk?”
The chamois hunter caught up a gaudy jug, and without further words, went out. When he had gone, the Princess rose and, taking the knife he had used to cut the bread and ham, she kissed the handle on the place where his fingers had grasped it. ”You're a very silly girl, Virginia, my dear,” she said. ”But oh, how you do love him. How he is _worth_ loving, and--what a glorious hour you're having!”
For ten minutes she sat alone, perhaps more; then the door was flung open and her host flung himself in, no longer with the gay air which had sat like a cloak upon him, but hot and sulky, the jug in his hand as empty as when he had gone out.
”I have failed,” he said gloomily. ”I have failed, though I promised you the milk.”
”Couldn't you find a cow?” asked Virginia.
”Oh yes, I found one, more than one, and caught them too. I even forced them to stand still, and grasped them by their udders, but not a drop of milk would come down. Abominable brutes! I would gladly have killed them, but that would have given you no milk.”
For her life, the Princess could not help laughing, his air was so desperate. If only those cows could have known who he was, and appreciated the honor!
”Pray, pray don't mind,” she begged. ”You have done more than most men could have done. After all, I'll have a gla.s.s of Rhaetian beer with you, to drink your health and that of your Emperor. I wonder by the by if he, who prides himself on doing all things well, can milk a cow?”
”If not, he should learn,” said the chamois hunter, viciously.
”There's no knowing, it seems, when one may need the strangest accomplishments, and be humiliated for lack of them.”
”No, not humiliated,” Virginia a.s.sured him. ”It's always instructive to find out one's limitations. And you have been most good to me. See, while you were gone, I ate the slice of bread and ham you cut, and never did a meal taste better. Now, you must have many things to do, which I've made you leave undone. I've trespa.s.sed on you too long.”
”Indeed, lady, it seems scarcely a moment since you came, and I have no work to do,” the chamois hunter insisted.
”But I've a friend waiting for me, on the mountain,” the Princess confessed. ”Luckily, she had her lunch and will have eaten it, and her guide-book must have kept her happy for a while; but by this time I'm afraid she's anxious, and would be coming in search of me, if she dared to stir. I must go. Will you tell me by what name I shall remember my--rescuer, when I recall this day?”
”They named me--for the Emperor.”
”They were wise. It suits you. Then I shall think of you as Leopold.
Leopold--what? But no, don't tell me the other name. It _can't_ be good enough to match the first; for do you know, I admire the name of Leopold more than any other I've ever heard? So, Leopold, will you shake hands for good-by?”
The strong hand came out eagerly, and pressed hers. ”Thank you, gna'
Fraulein; but it's not good-by yet. You must let me help you back by the way you came, and down the mountain.”
”Will you really? I dared not ask as much, for fear, in spite of your kind hospitality, you were--like your n.o.ble namesake--a hater of women.”
”That's too hard a word, even for an Emperor, lady. While as for me, if I ever said to myself, 'no woman can be of much good to a man as a real companion,' I'm ready to unsay it.”
”I'm glad! Then you shall come with me, and help me; and you shall help my friend, who is so good and so strong-minded that perhaps she may make you think even better of our s.e.x. If you will, you shall be our guide down to Alleheiligen, where we've been staying at the inn since last night. Besides all that, if you wish to be _very_ good, you may carry our cloaks and rucksacks, which seem so heavy to us, but will be nothing for your strong shoulders.”
The face of the chamois hunter changed and changed again with such amused appreciation of her demands, that Virginia turned her head away, lest she should laugh, and thus let him guess that she held the key to the inner situation.
His willingness to become a cowherd, and now a beast of burden for the foreign lady he had seen, and her friend whom he had not seen, was indubitably genuine. He was pleased with the adventure--if not as pleased as his initiated companion. For the next few hours the hunter was free, it seemed. He said that he had been out since early dawn, and had had good luck. Later, he had returned to the hut for a meal and a rest, while his friends went down to the village on business which concerned them all. As they had not come back, they were probably amusing themselves, and when he had given the ladies all the a.s.sistance in his power, he would join them.
The way down was easy to Virginia, with his hand to help her when it was needed, and she had never been so happy in her twenty years. But, after all, she asked herself, as they neared the place where she had left Miss Portman, what had she accomplished? What impression was she leaving? Would this radiant morning of adventure do her good or harm with Leopold when Miss Mowbray should meet him later, in some conventional way, through letters of introduction to Court dignitaries at Kronburg?