“Why, it is Monsieur Carewe!” he cried. “Good! We are coming out to meet you. This is a pleasure indeed.”
Maurice gazed keenly into the speaker's face, and to his surprise beheld the baron whose arm he had broken a fortnight since. He climbed on his horse again.
“I am glad you deem it a pleasure, baron,” he said dryly. “From what you imply, I should judge that you were expecting me.”
“Nothing less! Your departure from Bleiberg was known to us as early as two o'clock this after-noon,” answered the baron. “Permit us to escort you to the chateau before the ladies see you. 'Tis a gala night; we are all in our best bib and tucker, as the English say. We believed at one time that you were not going to honor us with a second visit. Now to dress, both of us; at ten Madame the duchess arrives with General Duckwitz and Colonel Mollendorf, who is no relation to the late minister of police in Bleiberg.”
Underneath all this Maurice discerned a shade of mockery, and it disturbed him.
“First, I should like to know--” he began.
“Later, later!” cried the baron. “The gates are but a dozen rods away. To your room first; the rest will follow.”
“The only clothes I have with me are on my back,” said Maurice.
“We shall arrange that. Your guard-hussar uniform has been reserved for you, at the suggestion of the Colonel.”
And Maurice grew more and more disturbed.
“Were they courteous to you on the road?”
“Patience! Here we are at the rear gates.”
Maurice found it impossible to draw back; three troopers blocked the rear, the baron and another rode at his sides, and four more were in advance. The rear gates swung open, and the little troop passed into the chateau confines. Maurice snatched a glimpse of the front lawns and terraces. The trees and walls were hung with Chinese lanterns; gay uniforms and shimmering gowns flitted across his vision. Somewhere within the chateau an orchestra was playing the overture from “Linda di Chamounix.” Indeed, with all these brave officers, old men in black bedecked with ribbons, handsome women in a brilliant sparkle of jewels, it had the semblance of a gay court. It was altogether a different scene from that which was called the court of Bleiberg. There was no restraint here; all was laughter, music, dancing, and wines. The women were young, the men were young; old age stood at one side and looked on. And the charming Voiture-verse of a countess, Maurice was determined to seek her first of all. He vaguely wondered how Fitzgerald would carry himself throughout the ordeal.