A MINOR CHORD AND A CHANGE OF MOVEMENT
Marshal Kampf, wrapt in his military cloak, with the peak of his cap drawn over his eyes, sat on one of the rustic benches in the archbishop's gardens and reflected.The archbishop had announced an informal levee, the first since the king's illness.He had impressed the Marshal with the fact that his presence was both urgent and necessary.Disturbed as he was by the unusual command, the Marshal had arrived an hour too early.Since the prelate would not rise until nine, the Marshal told the valet that he would wait in the gardens.
An informal levee, he mused.What was the meaning of it? Had that master of craft and silence found a breach in the enemy's fortifications? He rubbed the chill from his nose, crossed and re-crossed his legs and teetered till the spurs on his boots set up a tuneful jingle.
So far as he himself was concerned, he was not worried.The prelate knew his views and knew that he would stand or fall with them.He had never looked for benefits, as did those around him.
He had offered what he had without hope of reward, because he had considered it his duty.And, after all, what had the Osian done that he should be driven to this ignominious end? His motives never could be questioned; each act had been in some way for the country's good.Every king is a usurper to those who oppose him.
Would the kingdom be bettered in having a queen against whom the confederation itself was opposed? Would it not be adding a twofold burden to the one? The kingdom was at peace with those countries from which it had most to fear.Was it wise to antagonize them? Small independent states were independent only by courtesy.Again, why had Austria contrived to place an alien on the throne, in face of popular sentiment? Would Austria's interests have been less safe in the advent of rightful succession? Up to now, what had Austria gained by ignoring the true house? Outwardly nothing, but below the surface? Who could answer?
For eleven years he had tried to discover the secret purpose of Austria, but, like others, he had failed; and the Austrian minister was less decipherable than the "Chinese puzzle." He was positive that none of the arch-conspirators knew; they were blinded by self-interest.And the archbishop? The Marshal rubbed his nose again, not, however, because it was cold.Did any one know what was going on behind the smiling mask which the reticent prelate showed to the world? The Marshal poked his chin above his collar, and the wrinkles fell away from his gray eyes.
The sky was clear and brilliant, and a tonic from the forests sweetened the rushing air.The lake was ruffled out of its usual calm, and rolled and galloped along the distant shores and flashed on the golden sands.Above the patches of red and brown and yellow the hills and mountains stood out in bold, decided lines.
Water fowl swept along the marshes.The doves in twos and threes fluttered down to the path, strutted about in their peculiarly awkward fashion, and doubtfully eyed the silent gray figure on the bench, as if to question his right to be there this time of the morning, their trysting hour.Presently the whole flock came down, and began cooing and waltzing at the Marshal's feet.He soon discovered the cause.
Her Royal Highness was coming through the opening in the hedgerow which separated the two confines.She carried a basket on her arm, and the bulldog followed at her heels, holding his injured leg in the air, and limping on the remaining three.At the sight of her the doves rose and circled above her head.She smiled and threw into the air handful after handful of cake and bread crumbs.In their eagerness the doves alighted on her shoulders, on the rim of the basket, and even on the broad back of the dog, who was too sober to give attention to this seeming indignity.He kept his eye on his mistress's skirts, moved when she moved, and stopped when she stopped.A gray-white cloud enveloped them.
The Marshal, with a curious sensation in his heart, observed this exquisite, living picture.He was childless; and though he was by nature undemonstrative, he was very fond of this youth.
Her cheeks were scarlet, her rosy lips were parted in excitement, and her eyes glistened with pleasure.With all her twenty years, she was but ten in fancy; a woman, yet a child, unlettered in worldly wit, wise in her love of nature.Not until she had thrown away the last of the crumbs did she notice the Marshal.
He rose and bowed.
"Good morning, your Highness.I am very much interested in your court.And do you hold it every morning?""Even when it rains," she said, smiling."I am so glad to see you; I wanted to talk to you last night, but I could not find the opportunity.Let me share the bench with you."And youth and age sat down together.The bulldog planted himself in the middle of the path and blinked at his sworn enemy.The Marshal had no love for him, and he was well aware of it; at present, an armistice.
The princess gazed at the rollicking waters, at her doves, thence into the inquiring gray eyes of the old soldier.
"Do you remember," she said, "how I used to climb on your knees, ever so long ago, and listen to your fairy stories?""Eh! And is it possible that your Highness remembers?" wrinkles of delight gathering in his cheeks."But why `ever so long ago'?
It was but yesterday.And your Highness remembers!""I am like my father; I never forget!" She looked toward the waters again."I can recall only one story.It was about a princess who lost all her friends through the offices of a wicked fairy.I remember it because it was the only story you told me that had a sad ending.It was one of Andersen's.Her father and mother died, and the moment she was left alone her enemies set to work and toppled over her throne.She was cast out into the world, having no friend but a dog; but the dog always found something to eat, and protected her from giants and robbers and wolves.
