Part 8 (1/2)
”Is there anything murmuring in the distance? Is it water or ... or is it my fancy?”
The man listened:
”I can hear nothing, highness.... You must be a little feverish.”
”Take a chair and come and sit by the head of the bed....”
The man did as he was told.
”And let me feel you near me: give me your hand, so....”
At last Othomar closed his eyes. In his ears the buzzing continued, still continued.... But under the very buzzing, while the lightness in his head lifted like a mist, the Crown-prince of Liparia fell asleep, his clammy hand in the hard hand of his body-servant, who watched his master's restless sleep in the quivering round the mouth, the jerking of the body, until, to quiet him, he softly stroked the throbbing forehead with his other hand, muttering compa.s.sionately, with his strange, national voice of caress:
”My poor princie!...”
The dawn rose outside; the daylight seemed to push the window-curtains asunder.
5
The next morning the d.u.c.h.ess was to preside at the breakfast-table: she was in the dining-room with all the gentlemen when Othomar entered, as the last, with Dutri. His uniform of blue, white and silver fitted him tightly; and he saluted, smilingly, but a little stiffly, while Herman shook hands with him and the others bowed, the d.u.c.h.ess curtseying deeply.
”How pale the prince looks!” Leoni said to Ducardi.
It was true: the prince looked very pale; his eyes were dull, but he bore himself manfully, ate a little fish, trifled with a salmi of game.
Yet the prince's fatigue was so evident that Ducardi asked him, softly, across the table:
”Is your highness not feeling well?...”
All eyes were raised to Othomar. He wished to give the lie to their sympathy:
”I'm all right,” he replied.
”Did your highness have a bad night?” continued Ducardi.
”Not very good,” Othomar was compelled to acknowledge, with a smile.
The conversation continued, the d.u.c.h.ess gave it a new turn; but after breakfast, on the point of departure--the horses stood saddled in the courtyard--Ducardi said, bluntly:
”We should do better not to go, highness.”
Othomar was astonished, refused to understand.
”You look a little fatigued, highness,” added Ducardi, shortly; and, more softly, deprecatingly, ”And it's not surprising either, that the last few days have been too much for you. If your highness will permit me, I would recommend you to take a rest to-day.”
Already a soft feeling of relaxation overcame the prince; he felt too much delighted at this idea of rest to continue his resistance. Yet his conscience p.r.i.c.ked him at the thought of his father: a feeling of shame in case the emperor should hear of his exhaustion, which seemed so clearly evident.
And he absolutely insisted that the expedition should not be abandoned altogether. He yielded to Ducardi in so far as not to go himself and to take repose, provided that they thought he needed it; but he urgently begged Prince Herman and the others to follow the route planned out for that day and to go. And this he said with youthful haughtiness, already relieved at the thought of the day of repose before him--a whole day, unexpectedly!--but above all afraid of allowing his joy to be perceived and therefore sulking a little, as though he wished to go too, as though he thought General Ducardi foolish, with his advice....
The gentlemen went. The d.u.c.h.ess herself conducted Othomar to the west wing, pressed him to rest in her own boudoir. Through the windows of the gallery Othomar saw Herman and the others riding away; he followed them for an instant with his eyes, then went on with the d.u.c.h.ess and across the courtyard saw a groom lead back to the stables the horse that had been saddled for him, patting its neck. He was still disturbed by mingled emotions: the pleasant antic.i.p.ation of resting, a little anxiety lest he should betray himself, a certain feeling of shame....