The Queen was an ill-treated and misjudged woman, she declared, concluding with a vow that the just judgment of G.o.d would, sooner or later, fall upon her enemies. What the Englishwoman had told him had impressed him. And now Hinckeldeym's demeanour made it plain that what Allen had said had very good foundation.

He, Ludwig Meyer, was Minister of Justice, yet he was compelled to conspire with the others to do to a woman the worst injustice that man's ambition could possibly conceive. His companion Hoepfner, Minister of Finance, was also one of Hinckeldeym's creatures, and dared not dissent from his decision.

"You forget, my dear Meyer," said the old President, turning back to him. "You forget all that the Countess Hupertz discovered, and all that she told us."

"I recollect everything most distinctly. But I also recollect that she gave us no proof."

"Ah! You, too, believe in platonic friendship!" sneered the old man.

"Only fools believe in that."

"No," interposed Stuhlmann quickly. "Do not let us quarrel over this.

Our policy is a straightforward and decisive one. The King is to apply for a divorce, and our friend Meyer will see that it is granted. The thing is quite simple."

"But if she is innocent?" asked the Minister of Justice.

"There is no question of her innocence," snapped Hinckeldeym. "It is her guilt that concerns you--you understand!"

Then, after some further consultation, during which time Meyer remained silent, the three men rose and, shaking hands with the President, departed.

When they had gone Hinckeldeym paced angrily up and down the room. He was furious that Meyer should express the slightest doubt or compunction. His hands were clenched, his round, prominent eyes wore a fierce, determined expression, and his gross features were drawn and ashen grey.

"We shall see, woman, who will win--you or I!" he muttered to himself.

"You told me that when you were Queen you would sweep clean the Augean stable--you would change all the Ministers of State, Chamberlains--every one, from the Chancellor of the Orders down to the Grand Master of the Ceremonies. You said that they should all go--and first of all the _dames du palais_. Well, we shall see!" he laughed to himself. "If your husband is such a fool as to relent and regard your friendship with Leitolf with leniency, then we must bring forward this newest lover of yours--this man who is to be arrested in your company and condemned as a criminal. The people, after that, will no longer call you `their Claire' and clamour for your return, and in addition, your fool of a husband will be bound to accept the divorce which Meyer will give him.

And then, woman," he growled to himself, "you will perhaps regret having threatened Heinrich Hinckeldeym!"

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

ROMANCE AND REALITY.

Roddy Redmayne, having returned safely from abroad, was living in quiet seclusion with Guy in apartments in a small, pleasantly situated cottage beyond West Worthing, on the dusty road to Goring. Immediately on his arrival from Hull he had gone to Brighton, but after a few days had taken apartments in the ancient little place, with its old-world garden filled with roses.

Both he and Guy, under a.s.sumed names, of course, represented themselves as clerks down from London, spending their summer holidays, and certainly their flannel suits, white shoes, and Panama hats gave them that appearance. Kinder was in hiding in a house up in Newcastle-on-Tyne, having crossed to that port from Antwerp. The Baroness's jewels, which were a particularly fine lot, had been disposed of to certain agents in Leyden, and therefore Roddy and his friends were in funds, though they gave no sign of wealth to their landlady, the thrifty wife of a cab proprietor.

It was a very pleasant little cottage, standing quite alone, and as the two men were the only lodgers they were quite free to do as they liked.

The greater part of the day they smoked and read under the trees in the big, old-fashioned garden, and at evening would walk together into Worthing, and generally met Claire upon the pier.

"Madame," as they called her, went with Leucha several times and lunched with them at the little place, while once or twice they had had the honour of dining at her table, when they had found her a most charming hostess. Both men tried to do all they could to render her what little services lay in their power, and each day they sent her from the florist's large bunches of tea-roses, her favourite flowers. Little Ignatia was not forgotten, for they sent her dolls and toys.

Claire's life was now at last calm and peaceful, with her three strange friends. Leucha was most attentive to Ignatia, and took her each morning for a run with bare feet upon the sands, while the two men who seldom, if ever, went out before dusk, generally met her and walked with her after dinner beside the sea.

Often, when alone, she wondered how her husband fared at Treysa, and how Carl was enduring the broiling heat of the long, thirsty Italian summer.

Where was that traitress, the Trauttenberg, and what, she wondered, had become of those two faithful servants, Allen and Henriette? Her past unhappiness at Treysa sometimes arose before her like some hideous but half-remembered dream. In those days she lived among enemies, but now she was with friends, even though they might be outlawed from society.

With all her timid flexibility and soft acquiescence Claire was not weak; for the negative alone is weak, and the mere presence of goodness and affection implies in itself a species of power, power with repose-- that soul of grace.

Many a pleasant stroll after sundown she took with the courtly old adventurer, who looked quite a gay old dog in his flannels and rakish Panama pulled down over his eyes; or with Guy, who dressed a trifle more quietly. The last-named, however, preferred, of course, the society of Leucha, and frequently walked behind with her. Claire treated Roddy's daughter more as an equal than as a dependant--indeed, treated her as her lady-in-waiting, to fetch and carry for her, to tie her veil, to b.u.t.ton her gloves, and to perform the thousand and one little services which the trained lady-in-waiting does so deftly and without ceremony.

Though at first very strange to the world, Claire was now beginning to realise its ways, and to enjoy and appreciate more and more the freedom which she had at last gained. She delighted in those evening walks beneath the stars, when they would rest upon a seat, listening to the soft music of the sea, and watching the flashing light of the Owers and the bright beacon on Selsea Bill.

Yes, life in the obscurity of Worthing was indeed far preferable to the glare and glitter of the Court at Treysa. The people in the town-- shopkeepers and others--soon began to know Madame Bernard by sight, and so many were her kindly actions that the common people on the promenade--cabmen, baggage-porters, bath-chair men, and the like-- touched their hats to her in respect, little dreaming that the beautiful, sweet-faced foreigner with the pretty child was actually queen of a German kingdom.

As the summer days went by, and the two men met her each evening at the entrance to the pier, she could not close her eyes to the fact that the affection between Guy and Leucha had increased until it now amounted to a veritable pa.s.sion. They loved each other both truly and well, yet what could be done? There was, alas! the ghastly barrier of want between them--a barrier which, in this cruel, hard world of ours, divides so many true and loving hearts.

And as those peaceful summer days went by, the two strangers, a man and a woman, who lived at separate hotels, and only met on rare occasions, were ever watchful, noting and reporting the Queen's every action, and keeping close observation upon the two men who were living at that rose-embowered cottage in calm ignorance of the dastardly betrayal that was being so ingeniously planned.

One evening, just before she sat down to dinner, the maidservant handed her a letter with a Belgian stamp, and opening it, she saw that enclosed was a communication from the faithful Steinbach.

She tore open the envelope with breathless eagerness, and read as follows:--

"Your Majesty.--In greatest haste I send you warning to acquaint you with another fresh conspiracy, the exact nature of which I am at present unaware. Confidential papers have, however, to-day pa.s.sed through my hands in the Ministry--a report for transmission to Crispendorf, in London. This report alleges that you are unduly friendly with a certain Englishman named Guy Bourne, said to be living in the town of Worthing, in the county of Suss.e.x. This is all I can at present discover, but it will, I trust, be sufficient to apprise you that your enemies have discovered your whereabouts, and are still seeking to crush you. The instant I can gather more I will report further. Your Majesty's most humble and obedient servant.--S."

She bit her lip. Then they had discovered her, and, moreover, were trying now to couple her name with Bourne's! It was cruel, unjust, inhuman. In such a mind as hers the sense of a cruel injury, inflicted by one she had loved and trusted, without awakening any violent anger or any desire of vengeance, sank deep--almost incurably and lastingly deep.

Leucha, who entered the room at that moment, noticed her grave expression as she held the letter in her hand, but was silent.

The tender and virtuous woman reread those fateful lines, and reflected deeply. Steinbach was faithful to her, and had given her timely warning. Yes, she had on many occasions walked alone with Guy along the promenade, and he had, unseen by any one, kissed her hand in homage of her royal station. She fully recognised that, unscrupulous liars as her enemies were, they might start another scandal against her as cruel as that concerning Carl Leitolf.

She had little appet.i.te for dinner but afterwards, when she went out with Leucha into the warm summer's night, and, as usual, they met the two men idling near the pier, she took Guy aside and walked with him at some distance behind Roddy and his daughter.

At first their conversation was as usual, upon the doings of the day.

She gave him permission to smoke, and he lit his cigar, the light of the match illuminating his face.

It was a delightful August night, almost windless, and with a crescent moon and calm sea, while from the pier there came across the waters the strains of one of the latest waltzes. She was dressed all in white, and Guy, glancing at her now and then, thought he had never seen her looking more graceful and beautiful. Nevertheless her Imperial blood betrayed itself always in her bearing, even on those occasions when she had disguised herself in her maid's gowns.

Presently, when father and daughter were some distance ahead, she turned to him and, looking into his countenance, said very seriously,--

"Much as I regret it, Mr. Bourne, our very pleasant evenings here must end. This is our last walk together."

"What! Madame!" he exclaimed. "Are you leaving?" and he halted in surprise.

"I hardly know yet," she replied, just a trifle confused, for she hesitated to tell the cruel truth to this man who had once risked his life for hers. "It is not, however, because I am leaving, but our parting is imperative, because--well--for the sake of both of us."

"I don't quite follow your Majesty," he said, looking inquiringly at her. They were quite alone, at a spot where there were no promenaders.

"No," she sighed. "I expect not. I must be more plain, although it pains me to be so. The fact is that my enemies at Court have learnt that we are friends, and are now endeavouring to couple our names--you and I. Is it not scandalous--when you love Leucha?"

"What!" he cried, starting back amazed. "They are actually endeavouring to again besmirch your good name! Ah! I see! They say that I am your latest lover--eh? Tell me the truth," he urged fiercely. "These liars say that you are in love with me! They don't know who I am," he laughed bitterly. "I, a thief--and you, a sovereign!"

"They are enemies, and will utter any lies to create scandal concerning me," she said, with quiet resignation. "For that reason we must not be seen together. To you, Mr. Bourne, I owe my life--a debt that I fear I shall never be able to sufficiently repay. Mr. Redmayne and yourself have been very kind and generous to me, a friendless woman, and yet I am forced by circ.u.mstances to withdraw my friendship because of this latest plot conceived by the people who have so ingeniously plotted my ruin.

As you know, they declared that Count Leitolf was my lover, but I swear before G.o.d that he was only my friend--my dear, devoted friend, just as I believe that you yourself are. And yet," she sighed, "it is so very easy to cast scandal against a woman, be she a seamstress or of the blood royal."

"I am certainly your devoted friend," the man declared in a clear, earnest tone. "You are misjudged and ill-treated, therefore it is my duty as a man, who, I hope, still retains some of the chivalry of a gentleman, to stand your champion."

"In this, you, alas! cannot--you would only compromise me," she declared, shaking her head sadly.

"We must part. You and Mr. Redmayne are safe here. Therefore I shall to-morrow leave Worthing."

"But this is dastardly!" he cried in fierce resentment. "Are you to live always in this gla.s.s house, for your enemies to hound you from place to place, because a man dares to admire your beauty? What is your future to be?"

She fixed her calm gaze upon him in the pale moonlight.