The Complete Works of Frances Hodgson Burnett. Frances Hodgson Burnett

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СКАЧАТЬ had no wild fancies. He had learned too much and his mind was too well balanced. He did not try to “work out things.” He only thought of what he was under orders to do.

      “But,” said The Rat more than once in these midnight hours, “if it ever comes to a draw whether he is to be saved or I am, he is the one that must come to no harm. Killing can’t take long—and his father sent me with him.”

      This thought passed through his mind as the tramping feet went by. As a sudden splendid burst of approaching music broke upon his ear, a queer look twisted his face. He realized the contrast between this day and that first morning behind the churchyard, when he had sat on his platform among the Squad and looked up and saw Marco in the arch at the end of the passage. And because he had been good-looking and had held himself so well, he had thrown a stone at him. Yes—blind gutter-bred fool that he’d been:—his first greeting to Marco had been a stone, just because he was what he was. As they stood here in the crowd in this far-off foreign city, it did not seem as if it could be true that it was he who had done it.

      He managed to work himself closer to Marco’s side. “Isn’t it splendid?” he said, “I wish I was an emperor myself. I’d have these fellows out like this every day.” He said it only because he wanted to say something, to speak, as a reason for getting closer to him. He wanted to be near enough to touch him and feel that they were really together and that the whole thing was not a sort of magnificent dream from which he might awaken to find himself lying on his heap of rags in his corner of the room in Bone Court.

      The crowd swayed forward in its eagerness to see the principal feature of the pageant—the Emperor in his carriage. The Rat swayed forward with the rest to look as it passed.

      A handsome white-haired and mustached personage in splendid uniform decorated with jeweled orders and with a cascade of emerald-green plumes nodding in his military hat gravely saluted the shouting people on either side. By him sat a man uniformed, decorated, and emerald-plumed also, but many years younger.

      Marco’s arm touched The Rat’s almost at the same moment that his own touched Marco. Under the nodding plumes each saw the rather tired and cynical pale face, a sketch of which was hidden in the slit in Marco’s sleeve.

      “Is the one who sits with the Emperor an Archduke?” Marco asked the man nearest to him in the crowd. The man answered amiably enough. No, he was not, but he was a certain Prince, a descendant of the one who was the hero of the day. He was a great favorite of the Emperor’s and was also a great personage, whose palace contained pictures celebrated throughout Europe.

      “He pretends it is only pictures he cares for,” he went on, shrugging his shoulders and speaking to his wife, who had begun to listen, “but he is a clever one, who amuses himself with things he professes not to concern himself about—big things. It’s his way to look bored, and interested in nothing, but it’s said he’s a wizard for knowing dangerous secrets.”

      “Does he live at the Hofburg with the Emperor?” asked the woman, craning her neck to look after the imperial carriage.

      “No, but he’s often there. The Emperor is lonely and bored too, no doubt, and this one has ways of making him forget his troubles. It’s been told me that now and then the two dress themselves roughly, like common men, and go out into the city to see what it’s like to rub shoulders with the rest of the world. I daresay it’s true. I should like to try it myself once in a while, if I had to sit on a throne and wear a crown.”

      The two boys followed the celebration to its end. They managed to get near enough to see the entrance to the church where the service was held and to get a view of the ceremonies at the banner-draped and laurel-wreathed statue. They saw the man with the pale face several times, but he was always so enclosed that it was not possible to get within yards of him. It happened once, however, that he looked through a temporary break in the crowding people and saw a dark strong-featured and remarkably intent boy’s face, whose vivid scrutiny of him caught his eye. There was something in the fixedness of its attention which caused him to look at it curiously for a few seconds, and Marco met his gaze squarely.

      “Look at me! Look at me!” the boy was saying to him mentally. “I have a message for you. A message!”

      The tired eyes in the pale face rested on him with a certain growing light of interest and curiosity, but the crowding people moved and the temporary break closed up, so that the two could see each other no more. Marco and The Rat were pushed backward by those taller and stronger than themselves until they were on the outskirts of the crowd.

      “Let us go to the Hofburg,” said Marco. “They will come back there, and we shall see him again even if we can’t get near.”

      To the Hofburg they made their way through the less crowded streets, and there they waited as near to the great palace as they could get. They were there when, the ceremonies at an end, the imperial carriages returned, but, though they saw their man again, they were at some distance from him and he did not see them.

      Then followed four singular days. They were singular days because they were full of tantalizing incidents. Nothing seemed easier than to hear talk of, and see the Emperor’s favorite, but nothing was more impossible than to get near to him. He seemed rather a favorite with the populace, and the common people of the shopkeeping or laboring classes were given to talking freely of him—of where he was going and what he was doing. Tonight he would be sure to be at this great house or that, at this ball or that banquet. There was no difficulty in discovering that he would be sure to go to the opera, or the theatre, or to drive to Schonbrunn with his imperial master. Marco and The Rat heard casual speech of him again and again, and from one part of the city to the other they followed and waited for him. But it was like chasing a will-o’-the-wisp. He was evidently too brilliant and important a person to be allowed to move about alone. There were always people with him who seemed absorbed in his languid cynical talk. Marco thought that he never seemed to care much for his companions, though they on their part always seemed highly entertained by what he was saying. It was noticeable that they laughed a great deal, though he himself scarcely even smiled.

      “He’s one of those chaps with the trick of saying witty things as if he didn’t see the fun in them himself,” The Rat summed him up. “Chaps like that are always cleverer than the other kind.”

      “He’s too high in favor and too rich not to be followed about,” they heard a man in a shop say one day, “but he gets tired of it. Sometimes, when he’s too bored to stand it any longer, he gives it out that he’s gone into the mountains somewhere, and all the time he’s shut up alone with his pictures in his own palace.”

      That very night The Rat came in to their attic looking pale and disappointed. He had been out to buy some food after a long and arduous day in which they had covered much ground, had seen their man three times, and each time under circumstances which made him more inaccessible than ever. They had come back to their poor quarters both tired and ravenously hungry.

      The Rat threw his purchase on to the table and himself into a chair.

      “He’s gone to Budapest,” he said. “NOW how shall we find him?”

      Marco was rather pale also, and for a moment he looked paler. The day had been a hard one, and in their haste to reach places at a long distance from each other they had forgotten their need of food.

      They sat silent for a few moments because there seemed to be nothing to say. “We are too tired and hungry to be able to think well,” Marco said at last. “Let us eat our supper and then go to sleep. Until we’ve had a rest, we must ‘let go.’”

      “Yes. There’s СКАЧАТЬ