III.
Charlotte wiped tears
from his eyes. “It was a premonition,” she repeated.
Hortense wrung her hands.
Charlotte had rushed into her bedroom, flung herself onto the bed and burst
into tears. Hortense, who had been
sitting in the corner with a good view of the Adriatic out of the window, had dropped
everything and embraced her. Then Charlotte had burst into a flood of speech.
“Come, my child,” said
Hortense.
“If you say once more
that it was just a dream, I shall scream,” snapped Charlotte. “Hortense, you
know about dreams as well as I. No matter how horrible they might be, once you
awaken, the memories of the dream dissipate. But I remember my dream last night
– my premonition – perfectly. Every single minute of it!”
“But…you said Maximilian
has refused the honor,” said Hortense. “So your premonition can’t come true.”
“No, you are wrong. This
is exactly how my premonition started. In 1859, these Mexican royalists ask
Maximilian to assume the throne, and he refuses. They return, four years later,
in 1863, this time with the backing of Louise Bonaparte III of France. And then
he accepts. And we sail to Veracruz…”
“Well…you must simply
tell him not to accept the honor, when next the offer is made. Maximilian loves
you so dearly…”
“He may love me dearly,
but he will not refuse the honor merely because I tell him I had a bad dream.
He will dismiss it as you have done. And we will go to Mexico and he will
die…riddled full of holes by a rabble of men who can’t read, who can’t
write…who….!”
Charlotte stopped and
took a deep breath. “Is this to be
borne?” she murmured into Hortense’s comforting shoulder. “No, it is not to be
borne. It will not be borne.”
“What is in your mind, my
lady?” asked Hortense.
Charlotte rose to her
feet, her face determined.
“I will need friends, Hortense.
Friends who will help me. There will
be none to be found in Europe, when the time comes. I must look elsewhere.”
Hortense looked at her
mistress uncomprehendingly.
Charlotte took another
deep breath, and gazed fondly at her maid.
“Thank you, Hortense. I
feel much better now. You may leave me.”
Hortense rose, but looked
at her mistress doubtfully. “What is in your mind, my child?”
“I need friends,”
Charlotte repeated. “I have four years to find them. Plenty of time, if I start
now.”
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