On the Heights Part 68

I wronged you that day--the second day after I came here. Forgive me!

I'll never wrong you again, even in thought; and no one shall. No one shall ever slander you to me; but, I beg of you, leave the palace as soon as you can! Go home to--"

"Enough, enough," said Irma, deprecatingly, and holding her hands before her face as if Walpurga's words were stones hurled at her.

"Enough," added she, "farewell; do not forget me."

She held out her hand to Walpurga, who kissed it. The hand was hot, as if with fever.

Walpurga left. The parrot in the ante-room was still crying: "G.o.d keep you, Irma." Walpurga started with terror, and hurried away as if some one were after her.

CHAPTER XVII.

When Walpurga came out to Hansei, he asked:

"Shall I go in, too?"

"No, we're ready."

"I think I ought to go to the king and queen. I've got a good deal to say to them."

"No; that won't do at all."

"Why not? I know how to talk to them."

He had frequently rehea.r.s.ed what he intended to say to the king and queen. He would let them know that he deserved something more for giving up his wife for so long a time.

Walpurga found it difficult to make him understand that it would not do to press the matter. Hansei was not inclined to give up the point, and was, moreover, ashamed of confessing to the innkeeper that he had not sat at the same table with their majesties, and that he had not even seen them.

Walpurga, who herself needed support, was now obliged to make a double effort in order to pacify Hansei, who threatened to become rude and troublesome.

"But I may see your prince? You still have a right to take me there?"

asked Hansei.

"Yes, yes," replied Walpurga, "that can be done." She, too, was herself glad to have a chance to see the child once more, and this would furnish a good excuse. "What matters it if Mademoiselle Kramer or Frau von Gerloff make sport of Hansei? Day after to-morrow all these people will be nothing to me, and I shall be nothing to them." Her cheeks glowed with excitement, while she hurriedly led Hansei toward the prince's apartments. She was met at the door by Mademoiselle Kramer, who, when Walpurga stated her wish, answered:

"No; it can't be done. You must not go in again. Doctor Gunther is there and the child is crying and screaming terribly. Go; in G.o.d's name, go."

Mademoiselle Kramer disappeared, closing the door after her. Walpurga heard the child cry, and was not allowed to go in and help it. She was shut out--thrust out of doors. Shame at the treatment she had received in Hansei's presence, and anger at these cruel, ungrateful people struggled within her. At last, she said:

"Come, Hansei; we mustn't demean ourselves."

"Of course not," said Hansei. "It's plain enough that this is the way they treat folks when they have no further need for them."

"Nor do we need them any more. Thank G.o.d, that's over," said Walpurga.

She left the palace in an angry mood, and Hansei muttered to himself that he would thrash the first man he met on the way.

They returned to the inn where the chests had been left. They met Baum there, and Hansei again said:

"I'd swear that he's no one but Zenza's Jangerl."

"Jangerl's in America," insisted Walpurga. "I beg of you, don't trouble yourself about other matters. Let's hurry and get away from here."

"I've arranged to stay for another day. I'd like to see the sights, and would like to go to the theater for once in my life, and then--"

"Some other time--I want to get home to my child."

"You've been away so long that you needn't mind waiting a day longer."

Walpurga insisted and Hansei was obliged to yield.

"Why do you always look at me?" asked Hansei. "It seems as if you scarcely know me any more."

"I'd forgotten what true, blue eyes you have."

"Well, and so I've been so little in your thoughts that you didn't even remember how I look."

"Be quiet; I thought of you always. What sort of eyes has the child?"

"Bright and clear ones, and there's never been anything the matter with them."

Walpurga wanted to know what color its eyes were, and whether their color had changed, as had been the case with the prince. But Hansei did not know, and was quite vexed that his wife asked him questions about matters that he knew nothing of.

At last they mounted the wagon.

It drove by the palace, and, in spite of the rattling of the wheels over the stones, it seemed to Walpurga as if she could hear the prince crying.

"I, too, must wean myself," said Walpurga, weeping silently.

As soon as they had pa.s.sed the city gates, Hansei began abusing the court. "They might have sent us home in a coach; but that's the way with them. They'd rather fetch our wives than take 'em back again."

Whenever he said anything, he would look about as if his boon companions were present to nod their approval. "They might have let us have a pair of horses at least; indeed, they ought to have told us to keep them, for they've got more than they know what to do with, in the royal stables," said he.

Walpurga had so often told every one that her husband was coming to take her home in a wagon, that no arrangements had been made for that purpose; and now when Hansei grumbled at their want of consideration, she remembered her mistake and, without confessing it, endeavored to quiet him.

"I beg you, for all the world," said she, "don't say anything against the court. They can't help it. If the king or queen knew of these things, they'd gladly do everything. But you've no idea how little the queen knows of the world; of what costs money, of what has to be bought, or earned, or paid, she has no notion at all. She's just like the angels. They can't count money any more than she can, and have nothing to do with it. She's as dear as an angel, too. She takes the words out of your heart, and gives you such good ones in return." When she stopped and found that Hansei made no reply, she bit her lips with vexation. How she would have been praised if she had uttered such remarks to Countess Irma or Mademoiselle Kramer. But he behaved as if what she had said were nothing at all. A feeling of discontent struggled within her, but she repressed it. "Yes, I, too, must get used to the change," thought she to herself. "It's all over. Where I'm going, they'll not make much of everything I say." For a long while she was silent. She felt that looking into life-size double-mirrors was now at end. At last she thought of what the queen had told her: "When you get home, be patient with your people. The way to have peace on earth is to be patient with one another, and to do good to others without hope of recompense. Those who look for no reward are repaid sevenfold."

When she left home her mother had given her a piece of bread, with which to deaden her homesickness while at the palace, but the queen had given her words and thoughts that were as bread, for they, too, were life sustaining and, moreover, long-enduring.

It seemed as if a ray from the queen's sunny nature rested upon Walpurga's countenance. She regained her composure, and calm and gentle thoughts now filled her mind. Suddenly she seized her husband's hand and said:

"Now, G.o.d be praised, we hold fast to each other again. You must have lots of patience with me. I've been among strangers, but you'll soon see that I'll be all right again at home."

"Yes, yes, it's all right," said Hansei.

Wherever they alighted by the way, Hansei would tell the folk at the inn:

"This is my wife: she's been nurse to the crown prince, and now, thank G.o.d, we're well to do."