The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 7. Robert Louis Stevenson
this a request, monsieur mon mari?” she demanded.
“Madam, if I chose, I might command,” said Otto.
“You might, sir, as the law stands, make me prisoner,” returned Seraphina. “Short of that you will gain nothing.”
“You will continue as before?” he asked.
“Precisely as before,” said she. “As soon as this comedy is over, I shall request the Freiherr von Gondremark to visit me. Do you understand?” she added, rising. “For my part, I have done.”
“I will then ask the favour of your hand, madam,” said Otto, palpitating in every pulse with anger. “I have to request that you will visit in my society another part of my poor house. And reassure yourself – it will not take long – and it is the last obligation that you shall have the chance to lay me under.”
“The last?” she cried. “Most joyfully!”
She offered her hand, and he took it; on each side with an elaborate affectation, each inwardly incandescent. He led her out by the private door, following where Gondremark had passed; they threaded a corridor or two, little frequented, looking on a court, until they came at last into the Prince’s suite. The first room was an armoury, hung all about with the weapons of various countries, and looking forth on the front terrace.
“Have you brought me here to slay me?” she inquired.
“I have brought you, madam, only to pass on,” replied Otto.
Next they came to a library, where an old chamberlain sat half asleep. He rose and bowed before the princely couple, asking for orders.
“You will attend us here,” said Otto.
The next stage was a gallery of pictures, where Seraphina’s portrait hung conspicuous, dressed for the chase, red roses in her hair, as Otto, in the first months of marriage, had directed. He pointed to it without a word; she raised her eyebrows in silence; and they passed still forward into a matted corridor where four doors opened. One led to Otto’s bedroom; one was the private door to Seraphina’s. And here, for the first time, Otto left her hand, and, stepping forward, shot the bolt.
“It is long, madam,” said he, “since it was bolted on the other side.”
“One was effectual,” returned the Princess. “Is this all?”
“Shall I reconduct you?” he asked, bowing.
“I should prefer,” she asked, in ringing tones, “the conduct of the Freiherr von Gondremark.”
Otto summoned the chamberlain. “If the Freiherr von Gondremark is in the palace,” he said, “bid him attend the Princess here.” And when the official had departed, “Can I do more to serve you, madam?” the Prince asked.
“Thank you, no. I have been much amused,” she answered.
“I have now,” continued Otto, “given you your liberty complete. This has been for you a miserable marriage.”
“Miserable!” said she.
“It has been made light to you; it shall be lighter still,” continued the Prince. “But one thing, madam, you must still continue to bear – my father’s name, which is now yours. I leave it in your hands. Let me see you, since you will have no advice of mine, apply the more attention of your own to bear it worthily.”
“Herr von Gondremark is long in coming,” she remarked.
“O Seraphina, Seraphina!” he cried. And that was the end of their interview.
She tripped to a window and looked out; and a little after, the chamberlain announced the Freiherr von Gondremark, who entered with something of a wild eye and changed complexion, confounded, as he was, at this unusual summons. The Princess faced round from the window with a pearly smile; nothing but her heightened colour spoke of discomposure. Otto was pale, but he was otherwise master of himself.
“Herr von Gondremark,” said he, “oblige me so far: reconduct the Princess to her own apartment.”
The Baron, still all at sea, offered his hand, which was smilingly accepted, and the pair sailed forth through the picture-gallery.
As soon as they were gone, and Otto knew the length and breadth of his miscarriage, and how he had done the contrary of all that he intended, he stood stupefied. A fiasco so complete and sweeping was laughable, even to himself; and he laughed aloud in his wrath. Upon this mood there followed the sharpest violence of remorse; and to that again, as he recalled his provocation, anger succeeded afresh. So he was tossed in spirit; now bewailing his inconsequence and lack of temper, now flaming up in white-hot indignation and a noble pity for himself.
He paced his apartment like a leopard. There was danger in Otto, for a flash. Like a pistol, he could kill at one moment, and the next he might be kicked aside. But just then, as he walked the long floors in his alternate humours, tearing his handkerchief between his hands, he was strung to his top note, every nerve attent. The pistol, you might say, was charged. And when jealousy from time to time fetched him a lash across the tenderest of his feeling, and sent a string of her fire-pictures glancing before his mind’s eye, the contraction of his face was even dangerous. He disregarded jealousy’s inventions, yet they stung. In this height of anger, he still preserved his faith in Seraphina’s innocence; but the thought of her possible misconduct was the bitterest ingredient in his pot of sorrow.
There came a knock at the door, and the chamberlain brought him a note. He took it and ground it in his hand, continuing his march, continuing his bewildered thoughts; and some minutes had gone by before the circumstance came clearly to his mind. Then he paused and opened it. It was a pencil scratch from Gotthold, thus conceived:
“The council is privately summoned at once.
If the council was thus called before the hour, and that privately, it was plain they feared his interference. Feared: here was a sweet thought. Gotthold, too – Gotthold, who had always used and regarded him as a mere peasant lad, had now been at the pains to warn him; Gotthold looked for something at his hands. Well, none should be disappointed; the Prince, too long beshadowed by the uxorious lover, should now return and shine. He summoned his valet, repaired the disorder of his appearance with elaborate care; and then, curled and scented and adorned, Prince Charming in every line, but with a twitching nostril, he set forth unattended for the council.
CHAPTER VII
THE PRINCE DISSOLVES THE COUNCIL
It was as Gotthold wrote. The liberation of Sir John, Greisengesang’s uneasy narrative, last of all, the scene between Seraphina and the Prince, had decided the conspirators to take a step of bold timidity. There had been a period of bustle, liveried messengers speeding here and there with notes; and at half-past ten in the morning, about an hour before its usual hour, the council of Grünewald sat around the board.
It was not a large body. At the instance of Gondremark, it had undergone a strict purgation, and was now composed exclusively of tools. Three secretaries sat at a side-table. Seraphina took the head; on her right was the Baron, on her left Greisengesang; below these Grafinski the treasurer, Count Eisenthal, a couple of non-combatants, and, to the surprise of all, Gotthold. He had been named a privy councillor by Otto, merely that he might profit by the salary; and as he was never known to attend a meeting, it had occurred to nobody to cancel his appointment. His present appearance was the more ominous, coming when it did. Gondremark scowled upon him; and the non-combatant on his right, intercepting this black look, edged away from one who was so clearly out of favour.
“The hour presses, your Highness,” said the Baron; “may we proceed to business?”
“At once,” replied Seraphina.
“Your Highness will pardon me,” said Gotthold; “but you are still, perhaps, unacquainted with the fact that Prince Otto has returned.”
“The Prince will not attend the council,” replied Seraphina, with a momentary blush. – “The despatches, Herr Cancellarius? There is one for Gerolstein?”
A