Monsieur Maurice by Edwards, Amelia Ann Blanford, 1831-1892

"What, still there, little one?" he said. "You have not heard what we were saying?"

"Yes," I said; "I heard it."

"The child may have heard, your Majesty," interposed my father, hastily; "but she did not understand. Run home, Gretchen. Make thy obeisance to his Majesty, and run home quickly."

But I had understood every word. I knew that Monsieur Maurice's life had been in danger. I knew the King was all-powerful. Terrified at my own boldness--terrified at the thought of my father's anger-- trembling--sobbing--scarcely conscious of what I was saying, I fell at the King's feet, and cried:--

"Save him--save him, Sire! Don't let them kill poor Monsieur Maurice! Forgive him--please forgive him, and let him go home again!"

My father seized me by the hand, forced me to rise, and dragged me back more roughly than he had ever touched me in his life.

"I beseech your Majesty's pardon for the child," he said. "She knows no better."

But the King smiled, and called me back to him.

"Nay, nay," he said, laying his hand upon my head, "do not be vexed with her. So, little one, you and Monsieur Maurice are friends?"

I nodded; for I was still crying, and too frightened at what I had done to be able to speak.

"And you love him dearly?"

"Better than anyone--in the world--except Papa," I faltered, through my tears.

"Not better than your brothers and sisters?"

"I have no brothers and sisters," I replied, my courage coming back again by degrees. "I have no one but Papa, and Monsieur Maurice, and Aunt Martha Baur--and I love Monsieur Maurice a thousand, thousand times more than Aunt Martha Baur!"

There came a merry sparkle into the King's eyes, and my father turned his face away to conceal a smile.

"But if Monsieur Maurice was free, he would go away and you would never see him again. What would you do then?"

"I--should be very sorry," I faltered; "but"....

"But what?"

"I would rather he went away, and was happy."

The King stooped down and kissed me on the brow.

"That, my little Maedchen, is the answer of a true friend," he said, gravely and kindly. "If your Monsieur Maurice deserves to go free, he shall have his liberty. You have our royal word for it. Colonel Bernhard, we will investigate this matter without the delay of an hour."

Saying thus, he turned from me to my father, and, followed by his officers, passed on in the direction of the Chateau.

I stood there speechless, his gracious words yet ringing in my ears. He had left me no time for thanks, if even I could have framed any. But he had kissed me--he had promised me that Monsieur Maurice should go free, "if he deserved it!" and who better than I knew how impossible it was that he should not deserve it? It was all true. It was not a dream. I had the King's royal word for it.

I had the King's royal word for it--and yet I could hardly believe it!

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