She was too late. The door was already open. The butler
and the footman both had run to it, and thrown it open for the
queen. As Helga reached the foot of the stairs, her Majesty was
just entering the room where Rudolf was, the servants attending
her, and Bernenstein standing behind, his helmet in his hand.
Rudolf and the chancellor had been continuing their conversation.
To avoid the observations of passers-by (for the interior of the
room is easy to see from the street), the blind had been drawn
down, and the room was in deep shadow. They had heard the wheels,
but neither of them dreamt that the visitor could be the queen.
It was an utter surprise to them when, without their orders, the
door was suddenly flung open. The chancellor, slow of movement,
and not, if I may say it, over-quick of brain, sat in his corner
for half a minute or more before he rose to his feet. On the
other hand, Rudolf Rassendyll was the best part of the way across
the room in an instant. Helga was at the door now, and she thrust
her head round young Bernenstein's broad shoulders. Thus she saw
what happened. The queen, forgetting the servants, and not
observing Helsing--seeming indeed to stay for nothing, and to
think of nothing, but to have her thoughts and heart filled with
the sight of the man she loved and the knowledge of his
safety--met him as he ran towards her, and, before Helga, or
Bernenstein, or Rudolf himself, could stay her or conceive what
she was about to do, caught both his hands in hers with an
intense grasp, crying:
"Rudolf, you're safe! Thank God, oh, thank God!" and she carried
his hands to her lips and kissed them passionately.
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