Rulers of Kings by Gertrude Atherton

It was sundown and she stood on the terrace before the windows of the state dining-room on the eastern side of the castle, watching the shadows darken the woods rising almost perpendicularly before her. She heard the train go by high on the mountain, and sighed impatiently. She was at liberty to take any train up there she wished, and here she must remain in maddening unquiet. She even felt some impatience with Fessenden, who surely might have sent her a telegram.

But dinner had calmed her nerves -- she had eaten no luncheon, and once more took her evening meal at the hour of five, that Maria Leopoldina might not add dyspepsia to her other burdens -- and she made an effort to detach her thoughts from the fixed idea and subdue them before bedtime. There was an infinity of suggestion in her surroundings, and she conjured back the scene of nearly half a century ago when Maximilian and Carlotta had stood up in the boat at the foot of the water-steps down on her left, smiling farewell to the throng of relatives and friends who hung over the parapet or had crowded out upon the narrow mole as far as the sphinx at its point. Where the American yacht rode at anchor, a ship, in the gala dress of flags and banners and pennants, had waited to carry the brother of the Emperor to the imperial destiny in which he and the many who loved him found cause for pride.